Never Give In
by whirlyite
Summary: Things don't always work out the way we plan or want them to.  Circumstances change our lives in one instant.  Just when the end appears to be in sight, life can go completely crazy.  And sometimes it results in the best of all possible outcomes.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story picks up immediately from my previous oneshot 'All Things Must Pass', which was a continuance of sorts to 'God Save the King'. It would be helpful to read GSK and then ATMP (in that order) first if you haven't already. ****The time period portrayed here is a real historical event, known as "The Great London Smog" or "The Big Smoke". From 5-9 December 1952 London was enveloped in a dense, polluted fog as the result of an atmospheric inversion in conjunction with freezing temperatures. It is estimated that up to 12,000 people eventually died due to the effects of breathing the heavily polluted air. Those with compromised immune systems and chronic respiratory disease were especially susceptible to the harsh and poisonous air. Wikipedia has an excellent overview if you'd like to know more. The book "Killer Smog, The World's Worst Air Pollution Disaster" by William Wise provides a more comprehensive account.**

**Chapter 1 - Decisions**

"_Never give in. Never give in. Never, never, never, never - in nothing, great or small, large or petty - never give in, except to convictions of honor and good sense. Never yield to force. Never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy." – Winston Churchill, 29 October 1941._

Jo sighed softly and looked up at Mavis. "He's finally asleep!" she whispered.

Mavis leaned over, concern on her face. "I don't like the sound of 'is breathin' Jo." Peter's breath rasped in short, harsh gasps.

"I don't either Mave. We'll have to watch him closely for the rest of the night." She gently felt his forehead. "Still feverish." She slipped a thermometer into his mouth; he didn't stir. She took it out after a few minutes and shook her head sadly. "Oh no Mave! He has a 102° temperature!" She went back into the kitchen for more cold water and handed the bowl to Mavis. "Mave would you mind keeping the cloth on his forehead refreshed? I've got to go down the hall and use the telephone."

Mavis looked up with a stricken expression. "Not the 'ospital?"

Jo nodded tightly. She reached down and gently smoothed Peter's hair back off his forehead before leaning down to kiss him. "I'm afraid so Mave. I'm really worried for him." She called out as she slipped out the door, "I'll be right back!"

Mavis gently bathed her brother's face with the cold water, then folded the cloth back over his forehead and eyes. She sat back with a sigh. "We sure could use that lil' moggy right about now, couldn't we Peter?"

As if in answer, Peter groaned and moved his head slightly. Mavis removed the cloth and refreshed it. She gently grasped his shoulder and leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Shhh. Don't wake up just yet. Keep restin'. Yer sweet wife is tryin' to get 'elp for you." He groaned again and stilled.

A few minutes later, Jo came back into the flat, tears streaming down her face. Mavis jumped up, alarmed. "What is it Jo? What's wrong?"

"The Emergency Bed Service can't help us. The hospital is completely overwhelmed. They all are. They've stopped sending ambulances because the drivers can't see in this fog. There's no public transport as well! Oh Mavis! What are we going to do? On top of all that, they want me to come in to work! How can I leave my husband when he's so ill? How?" She sank to the floor in front of the couch and dropped her face into her hands.

Mavis knelt down next to her. "'ow about a cab?"

"They're not running either. They can't see, the fog's just too thick. It's simply too dangerous." She raised her head and wiped the tears from her cheeks as she tried to compose herself. "We're just going to have to take care of him the best we can for now Mave. Dear God, please don't let us lose him this time." Her mind drifted back to when she had first met Peter in the military hospital where she worked at that time. It was close to the end of the war and he had been airlifted directly from Germany for treatment of a severe case of double lobar pneumonia. He had very nearly died then and when he finally recovered, his lungs were greatly weakened. She always wondered how a lowly RAF corporal rated a direct transfer from a prisoner of war camp back to London. She shook her head. Now wasn't the time to daydream. _Get a grip on yourself Jo! You're a nurse after all. Peter needs you now more than ever!_ "Please stay beside him Mave. I have to see what else we have in the medicine cabinet." She got to her feet.

Mavis nodded and sat on the couch at her brother's feet. "I'll stay as long as ya need me to Jo."

Jo wrapped her sister-in-law in a heartfelt hug. "Thanks so much Mave. You don't know what it means to have you here. I'm sure Peter feels the same."

Mavis hugged her back. "Anytime Jo. You've been so good for 'im. I've never seen 'im 'appier. 'e loves you more than anythin'. I know that for a fact."

Jo smiled at her, the tears threatening to come back at Mavis' words. "He's my sweetheart. Truly."

After Jo left the room, Mavis got up and stoked the fire, then sat back on the sofa. She gave a start when Peter shifted slightly and moaned. She got up and knelt on the floor beside him. "Peter?"

He tried to open his eyes, only succeeding halfway. His shaking voice was hoarse. "M-Mave? What're ya doin' 'ere?"

"Dontcha remember brother? I've been 'ere for a few days now. Yer very sick." She felt his forehead, finding it still too warm for her liking. "Try to go back to sleep Peter. You need yer rest."

He closed his eyes, becoming restless. "Where's...where's...Louie? Andrew? Gov? Joe where...are...ya mate? Richard? Answer me…mates…please…" His voice came out as a tortured whisper, as if each word caused excruciating pain. His breath hitched and he began coughing. Mavis winced at the harsh, wet sound he made. She held his shoulders as he sat up, his chest heaving as he tried to get his breath back.

Jo ran back into the room, her arms full. "What's happened?"

"'e woke up for a bit and then began coughin'. Couldn't catch 'is breath afterwards."

"So…c-cold….so…cold…" Peter began violently shaking with chills. Jo dropped the supplies she carried into the armchair and grabbed another blanket. She and Mavis wrapped it around him. He continued shaking and mumbling. "Get 'im away from…me…'elp me mates. So…cold…take me…inside…please…mates…no…more…can't take…anymore…"

"What's 'e goin' on about?" Mavis briskly rubbed her brother's shoulders and arms, trying to warm him up.

Jo shook her head. "I have no idea."

"Louie! 'elp me lil' mate! Please! Louie..." Peter cried. He collapsed in another bout of coughing. Mavis and Jo supported his head and upper body as he hacked and wheezed, struggling to breathe. "Louie….please….'elp me…" To their horror, Peter began weeping. "I...can't...take...any...more..."

Jo drew his head to her shoulder and held him close. "Oh Peter darling. What is wrong? Please calm down! Please darling." She looked over at Mavis and saw that her eyes brimmed with unshed tears just like her own. Mavis shook her head sadly.

Jo leaned her head down until she was face to face with her husband. She tried to get his attention. "Peter! Peter, please look at me dear. We're here darling. You're at home. Please calm down." She caressed his cheek and waited for him to calm down. He gradually quieted and opened his eyes halfway.

"Who...who are you...?" he wheezed.

Mavis looked stricken as Jo shook her head. "It's the fever Mave. He's delirious. He was calling for his mates from the stalag." She gently lifted his chin to look him in the eyes and spoke as calmly as she could to him. "Peter, listen to me. I'm Josephine. I'm your wife."

Peter shivered again and blinked repeatedly. He seemed to come back to himself. "Jo? Is it really you? What're you doin' 'ere? Where're…where're me nippers?"

"Darling we sent the boys to stay with my mum and dad, remember?"

"No..." he mumbled. His eyes glazed over and he slumped against Jo's breast. Mavis moved to help Jo lay him back down.

"Jo, what're we gonna do?" Mavis was beginning to panic.

"He was calling for Louis. It can only be Louis LeBeau. I wonder...Mave, I'll be right back." She ran to the bedroom and returned a few minutes later, clutching a slip of paper. "Remember Mave, when Peter and I married we didn't have much in the way of funds?" Jo smiled inwardly. _Not that much has changed since then!_ "We spent our honeymoon in Paris at Louis' invitation. It was his wedding gift to us. I'll always remember the grand time we had! As we were taking our leave, Louis slipped me this piece of paper with his address and phone number. He told me that if we ever needed anything, to contact him." She laughed quietly. "He told me not to tell Peter, as he would be too stubborn to ask for help, even if he really needed it."

"He knows me brother well, don't 'e?" Mave was glad to finally have something to laugh at.

Jo glanced down at her unconscious husband. "Mave, I'm sorry to ask so much of you. Would you please watch over him while I'm gone?"

"That's what I'm 'ere for Jo. Don't you worry about 'im. Where are ya goin'?"

"I'm going to try to send a cable to Louis, if I can make my way to the telegraph office." She fetched her coat and hat, then leaned down to kiss Peter on the forehead. She grimaced at the heat radiating from him. "Please keep his shoulders elevated and try to keep his face bathed with the cold water."

Mavis nodded. "Be careful Jo! Don't you go gettin' 'it by a car or somethin'."

"That's not my intention, believe me Mave. I'll be back soon God willing!"

Mavis saw Jo to the door and turned back to her brother as he lay unconscious on the sofa. "Oh Peter luv. Somethin's gotta 'appen. You need 'elp bad."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – Grasping at Straws**

Jo hurried as much as she could in the impenetrable, caustic yellow-colored haze. She had wrapped a damp handkerchief around her nose and mouth, trying to minimize the effects of breathing in the heavily polluted fog. _Oh Peter, is it this horrible air that has made you so sick?_ She blinked back the tears that sprang up at the memory of her husband lying on the sofa, struggling to breathe. She realized she was grasping at straws by cabling Louis but felt she literally had no where else to turn.

She was immensely grateful that her parents had been able to take the boys. Peter missed them dreadfully, but they had talked it over and they both felt it was better for Robbie and Andrew to be with their grandparents during this stressful time. Of course, if it became necessary, she would bring the boys back to say their goodbyes; she prayed with all her heart that it wouldn't come to that. She didn't know how she would carry on if Peter died. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Despite her dark thoughts, she had to smile to herself. When she and Peter began seriously dating, she had been worried about her mum and dad's reaction to her having a beau from the East End. She needn't have worried. Peter had won her parents over very soon after she introduced him to them; her dad affectionately referred to him as 'that scruffy Cockney lad who captured my daughter's heart'.

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally found the Western Union office. She said a silent prayer of thanks when she saw that they were open. She ducked inside quickly, trying to minimize the amount of fog she let in as she opened the door. The clerk looked up expectantly at her entry, as the place appeared to be deserted.

"May I help you madam?"

Jo snatched the handkerchief off her face and tried to tidy up a bit, but gave it up as a bad job. The ostensibly white handkerchief was now black with soot. "Yes, please. I'd like to send a cable."

"Right. I'll need to ask you a few questions. First where is the cable to be sent?"

Jo leaned wearily against the counter as she went through all the details with the telegraph clerk. She decided to pay the extra fee for expedited delivery, given Peter's dire condition. She thanked the clerk and headed for the door. She turned back as the man called out after her solicitously.

"Take care madam. It is quite nasty and dangerous out there!" He gave her a sad, yet oddly encouraging smile. "And I hope your husband takes a turn for the better."

"Thank you so much." She gave the clerk a weary smile of her own before she pushed the door open and stepped out into the poisonous miasma that passed for air. She had no choice but to clutch the dirty handkerchief to her face as she slowly made her way to the chemist's shop a few doors down. She intended to purchase a few more items to help Peter cope as she awaited word from Louis.

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After Jo left, Mavis re-stoked the fire and then returned to sit on the end of the sofa at Peter's feet. She clearly heard his chest rattling with every breath, and she scrubbed at her eyes, wiping away the tears that filled them. She thought she heard him trying to speak and leaned down close to hear his labored whispers.

"So...tired...mates...so...tired...please...just let...me...go..."

She reached over and gently caressed his face. "Shhh, brother. Quiet now. Yer gonna be fine. You 'ang on Peter luv. 'ang on." She kept up the litany until he gradually quieted and appeared to relapse back into sleep. Mavis got up and headed to the kitchen for more cold water. She came back and sat on the floor in front of the sofa. She reached over to bathe her brother's face with the fresh, cold water then leaned back against the sofa, anxiously awaiting Jo's return. Peter's words had made no sense to her, but they nonetheless sent her mind reeling back seven years earlier to the time when she thought she would lose him forever.

Mavis would always remember the day the call came. The officious voice at the other end calmly told her that RAF Corporal Peter Newkirk had been airlifted from Germany to the 136th Station Hospital at Acton, Sudbury. She had no way to get there at the time and informed the caller of that with no small amount of distress. He told her that was not a problem, as Corporal Newkirk was in intensive care and not able to receive visitors at that time. He reassured her that they were doing everything possible to stabilize him so that he could be transferred to a larger hospital in London proper and that she would be contacted when the location was known. She pressed the man for further details but was told in no uncertain terms that he could provide no more information. She rang off in a shocked daze and spent the rest of the day crying uncontrollably, partly in relief that her brother was alive and back home, partly in distress from the fact that she had no idea what had happened to him. Was he wounded? Was he sick? Would he survive? How did he manage to get back to England from a POW camp? Was his camp already liberated? She had no answers to any of these questions. Peter had been her protector, provider and confidant for much of her life; her inability to see him or get any information about him made her heartsick. She had wandered aimlessly about her flat, sobbing and constantly murmuring_ "_You 'ang on Peter, you just 'ang on" to no one but herself.

Jo's arrival knocked Mavis out of her reverie. She got up and helped Jo with her packages, then turned to examine her, shocked at Jo's appearance. She took Jo by her shoulders.

"Blimey Jo! You're covered in…what is that? It looks like blackin' or coal dust!"

Jo nodded as she gently extricated herself from Mavis' grasp; she knelt by the sofa to check her husband's fever. "It's terrible out there Mave. Absolutely horrible!" She looked up at her sister-in-law. "He's no better I see."

Mavis shook her head sadly. "No. 'e'd wake for a bit and mutter a few words then 'e'd fall back asleep. 'e doesn't look like 'e's much worse though, other than 'is breathin'. That sounds terrible!"

Jo got to her feet and began to rummage through her purchases. She pulled out a small blue jar. "I bought some mentholatum. It should help him breathe a bit easier."

Mavis came near and took it from her. "'ere Jo, let me put this on 'is chest. You go freshen up and then try to get a little rest. You're all done in."

Jo started to protest, then gave in with a tired sigh. "You're right Mave, I am. I think we all are." She took her hat off and ran her fingers through her disheveled hair. "Thank you. I'll be back in an hour or so." She leaned down to kiss Peter on the forehead before she headed to the bedroom.

Mavis tried to concentrate on staying calm as she gently massaged the metholatum on his chest. She prayed the sharp vapors would help him breathe just a little easier and give him a bit of relief. God knows he needed it. She went to the kitchen to warm a thick towel. A hot towel always helped the vapors penetrate quickly. Peter shifted uncomfortably and grunted as she placed the towel on his chest. "Shhhh brother," she soothed him. "It's for yer own good. It'll make ya feel a little better." She buttoned his shirt then wrapped him back up in the blankets. She barely heard a hoarse whisper and knelt down to hear what Peter was saying.

"Th-thanks...lil mate."

Mavis shook her head. _'e thinks 'e's back in the stalag again!_ She sighed heavily and sat down to bathe Peter's face with cold water. It was going to be a very long night.

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The doorbell chimed early the next morning. Danielle LeBeau answered the door and then called for her husband.

"Louis! Louis! There is a telegram for you!"

"Merci Danielle! I will be there in one moment."

She smiled apologetically at the messenger. "Please wait just a minute. He is coming."

Louis emerged from the hallway, drying his face with a towel. "Yes? You say there is a telegram for me?"

The messenger stepped forward and handed a clipboard to Louis for his signature. Louis signed and handed it back. The messenger then gave him the telegram and took his leave.

Louis looked at the telegram and then at his wife, a puzzled expression on his face. "I wonder who it could be from?"

Danielle gently nudged her husband. "Open it and find out Louis."

"Oui! Why didn't I think of that?" He leaned over and gave her a kiss. "What would I do without you my dear?"

He tore the envelope open and excitedly exclaimed, "Danielle, it is from Josephine Newkirk!"

Danielle leaned in. "How are she and Pierre doing?"

He held up a hand as he began reading the telegram. At first very pleased to receive a cable from his English friend's wife, his expression quickly fell as he read. As he finished, his stomach knotted up as the desperate memories came flooding back.

He whispered to himself, "Mon Dieu! Oh Pierre, mon pauvre ami. Not again!"

Danielle saw her husband's expression instantly change from joy to sorrow. "Louis? What is it?"

Louis turned pain-filled eyes towards his wife. "Oh Danielle, Pierre is very ill. Josephine does not know where to turn. There must be something wrong in London. All the hospitals are full and Pierre needs help badly."

"Oh Louis! What can we do?"

Louis did not need to think twice. He knew exactly what he needed to do. He took his wife's hands in his own. "Danielle, I must go to London. Do you think you can handle the business while I am away?" He and his wife ran a successful catering operation.

Danielle looked her husband in the eyes. She knew that Louis regarded his friends from the war as closer than brothers. "Of course I can. Your sisters will help if I ask. Go Louis. Go help Pierre. Please give my love to them both and to the boys."

"Merci my love. I must get dressed and go to the telegraph office. Would you please help me to pack?"

"I will begin right now. Go Louis. Help Pierre and Josephine."

He kissed her, grateful for her understanding and love, then rushed to the bedroom to dress. He decided that he needed to send two cables. In the first, he would tell Josephine to expect him no later than the next day. He formulated the text of the second cable in his mind as he dressed. Pierre required medical attention as soon as possible and Louis knew exactly who to contact to get his English friend the help he so desperately needed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 - ****In Motion**

Mavis woke up slowly and shook her head to clear it. _'ow did I get 'ere?_ She didn't remember getting up from her seat on the floor beside Peter. She had lain her head down only for a moment (or so she thought). So how did she end up in the large overstuffed chair at the far end of the sofa?

"Jo?" she called.

"I'm right here, Mave", Jo whispered from beside the sofa. "I just got him settled down to sleep."

It all came back to her now. She and Jo had been awake the entire previous night with Peter. He had spent the night desperately struggling to breathe, hampered by endless bouts of harsh, wet, painful coughs. He alternated between delirium and exhaustion amidst the coughing episodes. He had been in such distress that Mavis had to leave the room to regain her composure several times. It had been a harried and stressful evening for all three of them.

She got up and went over to Jo as she leaned against the sofa with her head nestled against Peter's shoulder. She reached out to gently grasp Jo's arm. "Jo? How 'bout I make us a pot of coffee. Will that be all right with you?"

Jo didn't move but she smiled up at Mavis gratefully. "That would be wonderful Mave, thanks." She draped her arm protectively across Peter's chest, wishing she could shield him from further suffering.

Mavis went to the kitchen to fix the coffee and decided to prepare a bit of breakfast whilst she was there. She had put the coffee on and stepped back into the lounge to ask Jo what she would like to eat when she was stopped short by the scene before her. Jo was quietly praying. "Dear Father, please help me to be strong. He's endured so much already Father. Please…I don't think I can bear to lose him. I love him so. Please help me…" Her voice broke and she dissolved into soft sobs, trying to muffle the sound so as not to disturb her husband. After a moment, she calmed herself down and managed to speak to him, "Please…don't leave us…darling…please…."

Mavis reined in her own emotions and moved over to the sofa, where she knelt down to wrap her arms around Jo. After a few moments, she spoke softly, "C'mon Jo. You're worn down to nearly nothin'. What d'ya say we eat a quick bite o' breakfast to keep our strength up? We need to take care of ourselves so we can take care of Peter." She tugged gently at Jo's arm. "C'mon luv. C'mon."

Jo reluctantly let Mavis ease her up to her feet. "I suppose you're right Mave. But something very quick, please. I don't want to leave him alone for too long."

Mavis nodded. "Sure luv. I've already got the coffee brewin'."

They both moved to the kitchen, where Jo wearily sat down at the table. She stared blankly at the wall opposite until Mavis placed a cup of coffee before her. "Thanks Mave." Jo sipped her coffee and watched Mavis as she prepared breakfast, her mind drifting back to the time the two of them first met.

She'd just been assigned to Millbank the previous month, and to this particular wing of the hospital the previous week. She had been making her rounds and quietly entered the room of the RAF Corporal who had just been transferred in from Acton. The patient was dangerously ill with double lobar pneumonia. The field staff at Acton had been able to stabilize him to the point where he could be safely transferred to a larger medical facility. Unfortunately, his condition continued to deteriorate despite extensive penicillin therapy. She stopped just inside the door as she heard someone desperately whispering to the patient as he lay unresponsive within an oxygen tent.

"Peter luv, please don't give up. You just can't die now…not after all you've been through. You survived growin' up, you survived the war, you survived bein' a prisoner, you can survive this. Peter, please, please don't give up…"

"I'm sorry ma'am." She extended her arm as she approached the sobbing young woman. "I'm sorry but I need to clean his trach tube." The doctors of the 136th in Acton had had to perform an emergency tracheotomy to save their patient's life. "It might be better if you stepped outside the room whilst I do so."

The young woman swiped at her tears as she shook her head vigorously. "No! I'll not be leavin' me brother. I 'aven't seen 'im in nearly four years!"

She knew she would feel the same way if she was in this situation and decided not to press the issue. "That's all right dear. You're most welcome to stay. If anything I do bothers you, just turn your head away. I promise you I will not cause him any pain. I won't be too long, but I do need to take my time and do a good, thorough job of it." She glanced down at the dark haired young man in the bed. "Your brother deserves the best, don't you agree?"

"Yes miss, 'e does. 'e's me only brother, me older brother, and I don't want ta lose 'im now." Mavis peered over at her brother and winced. She gestured to her throat. "They told me they 'ad to do that to 'im to save 'is life."

She nodded sympathetically. "Yes, they did. I won't lie to you; he is very seriously ill. But I want to assure you that we're doing everything we can to help him get better." She pointed at the chair. "Here, why don't you have a seat and you can tell me about your brother while I work."

Mavis nodded and sat back down. "Thank you ma'am. My name's Mavis. Mavis Newkirk."

"I'm very happy to meet you Mavis. My name is Josephine, but you can call me Jo. Your brother's name is Peter, right?"

They had talked that evening whilst she took care of Peter and they also talked later, when she took her break. Mavis' and Jo's bond of friendship began forming right then and there. Who would've dreamed Jo would end up falling in love with and marrying Mavis' brother?

Mavis' concerned voice interrupted her memories. "Jo? Are ya all right?"

"Hmmm? Oh Mave! Sorry! I must have drifted off for a minute..." She looked down to see a plate of toast and scrambled egg sitting before her. "Oh thank you so much Mave. It looks good."

"You take yer time and enjoy breakfast Jo. I just checked on Peter and 'e's still sleepin'. 'e seems to be breathin' just a little bit easier."

"Thank God!" Jo whispered.

Mavis refreshed both of their coffees and then sat down opposite Jo with a plate of her own. She tried to convince her sister-in-law to get some rest in between bites. "Jo, I'll watch Peter. Ya need to sleep. You were up all night with 'im."

"So were you Mave."

"I woke up sittin' in the chair Jo, so I got a bit of sleep. Certainly more than you."

Jo sighed and looked down at her coffee. "Mave, I'm afraid to go to sleep. I'm afraid that…that…if I do...Peter...might..."

Mavis nodded and reached over to take her hand. "I know luv. I know. I feel the same way. But I'll be watchin' over 'im. Nothin's gonna 'appen to 'im, Jo. Peter's strong. 'e survived this before, didn't 'e? Trust me. You need sleep." They had both finished their meals and Mavis got up. She walked round to Jo and lifted her out of the chair. She pointed towards the sofa. "Go give Peter a kiss and then you go off to bed."

Jo did exactly as Mavis told her. Truth be told, she felt nearly ready to collapse. She knelt down by the sofa and caressed Peter's hair. She gently kissed his hot forehead and whispered, "Rest darling. Mave will be right here. I'll be in our bedroom if you need me. I love you."

Peter didn't respond and she stood up. "Mave please come get me if..."

"You know I will Jo. Now get some sleep, please?"

Jo nodded in defeat and headed to the bedroom.

Mavis took a few minutes to clear up in the kitchen, then she went to check on Peter. Satisfied he was resting as well as he possibly could, she moved over to sit on the end of the sofa at Peter's feet.

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Louis had dressed as quickly as possible and hurried to the telegraph office to reply to Josephine's desperate cable. He asked the clerk to have the message relayed by telephone as quickly as possible. There was simply no time to waste; his English friend's life hung in the balance. As he dictated the second cable, he fervently prayed that he had the correct address and phone number. He requested a telephone delivery for this message as well. _Please answer quickly! Pierre is depending on us!_

As he paid the clerk, he mentally ticked off the myriad things he needed to do. Finish packing. Purchase the tickets for the cross channel passage. Call his sisters and ask them to help Danielle while he was gone. Be sure to take grand-mère's homemade balm that had helped Pierre before. _So many things to do in such a short time!_ he muttered to himself as he made his way out the door.

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Mavis had gotten up to put the kettle on for tea when a knock sounded at the door. She hurried to answer it, not wanting either Peter or Jo to be disturbed by the noise. She gently eased the door open to find Peter and Jo's landlady standing there.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you but there's an urgent phone call for Mrs. Newkirk."

Mavis prayed it was the hoped-for reply to Jo's cable. "Oh ta! I'll 'ave 'er there in a minute."

The woman nodded and left. Mavis shut the door quietly and headed to the bedroom. She hated to wake Jo after only a few hours' sleep, but knew that she needed to take this phone call.

"Jo?" Mavis gently shook her sister-in-law's shoulder. "Jo, wake up luv."

Jo suddenly startled awake. "Mavis? What's wrong? Is Peter...?"

"No luv. 'e's still sleepin'. 'e's no worse than 'e was earlier." _'e's no better either,_ she thought to herself_._ "There's a phone call for you Jo. Yer landlady's 'oldin' it for you. I thought you'd want ta take the call."

"Oh thank you Mave! I hope it's from Louis!" Jo got up and threw her coat on.

Mavis followed her to the front door. "I 'ope so too luv." She turned to look at her brother. "I 'ope so too."

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As the train pulled out of the Gare du Nord headed for Dunkerque, Louis settled into his seat for the journey. Even though he had a private compartment and all the windows to himself, his mind dwelt years and miles away from the beautiful French countryside. He had been hurled back to the time seven years before when he thought he had lost his English friend forever. He sent a silent prayer to his friend in London. _Pierre, please do not leave us now! You must survive mon ami, as you did before!_

It had been early in 1945, February to be exact. The weather was brutal; the winter of 1944-1945 had been one for the record books. The dangerous cold proved to be the last nasty twist of the knife as the war slowly wound down. He, Newkirk, Carter and Baker were executing what turned out to be their last mission of the war. They had bundled up and slogged through the dark night, with an icy, frigid blizzard raging all about them, to mine the rebuilt Adolph Hitler bridge with timed explosives. The Allies were bulldozing the remnants of the once-proud Heer eastward, and the bridge was a vitally strategic crossing for the beleaguered Germans. It simply had to come down. Before they left, Colonel Hogan had warned them to exercise more than the usual caution, as conditions in Germany had quickly deteriorated into chaos. He didn't want to lose any of his men this close to the end. Hogan would have gone on the mission himself had he not been under strict orders from London to remain inside the stalag until liberation. London did not want to lose Papa Bear this close to the end either. LeBeau could still hear the Colonel's voice as he gave parting instructions to Newkirk, who was in charge of the mission. The Colonel had put his hands on Newkirk's shoulders and looked his Englishman directly in the eyes.

"Take extra special care Peter. It's extremely dangerous out there. I'm trusting you to bring them home safely."

Newkirk had nodded and winked at the Colonel in his usual insouciant manner. "Yes sir. I won't let you down."

LeBeau sighed to himself. Newkirk, being Newkirk, had done just that; he had successfully ensured they returned safely back to Stalag 13. But there had been one heartbreaking exception, and the cost was high. At the time, none of them had had any idea how badly that mission would end.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 - Aid and Comfort**

Jo returned a few minutes later with a genuine smile lighting up her weary face. She wrapped Mavis in a hug.

"Oh Mave! That was Louis' reply! He's taking the night ferry and should be here tomorrow morning!"

"Thank God for a little good news!" Mavis sighed.

Jo knelt beside Peter, speaking softly to him as she gently caressed his face. "Please hold on just a little longer darling. Louis is on his way."

Peter stirred, moving his head slightly towards Jo at the mention of Louis' name; he frowned and grunted, as if trying to awaken. She reached in to take his hand. "No darling. Sleep for now. You need to rest. Please, go back to sleep." She gently massaged his hand and sighed to herself when he finally settled back to sleep.

Mavis came near with a steaming cup of tea, and she gently tapped Jo on her shoulder. "'ere Jo. Sit at 'is feet whilst you drink this. Then I want you to go back to bed. Please?"

Jo looked up at Mavis with a grateful smile as she took the tea from her and moved to sit at the end of the sofa. "Thanks Mave. Although I don't know if I _can_ go back to sleep now. This good news seems to have given me a bit of a second wind."

Mavis was unconvinced. "Second wind or no, you've gotta get some rest! No arguments dearie. After yer done with the tea, off to bed with ya!"

Jo rolled her eyes after a particularly annoying and familiar fashion. "Yes mum!"

"Been takin' lessons from Peter 'ave ya? One rotten apple..." Mavis shook her head ominously.

Jo sipped at her tea and smiled at Mavis. "But he's a lovable rotten apple isn't he?"

Mavis had to smile. "That 'e is. I could never stay mad at 'im. Even when 'e'd done somethin' to fully deserve me wrath."

Jo sighed again and turned serious. "I know it's completely selfish of me, but I simply can't bear to lose him right now. The boys need their father. You need your brother. And I need my husband. He's a good man Mave. He just can't die. He just can't…" She reached over to gently squeeze his arm; Peter shifted slightly in response to her touch.

"I know luv. It just doesn't seem right for 'im to leave us now. Not after everythin' 'e's been through."

Jo nodded pensively. "I don't even know the full extent of what he went through in combat and whilst he was in the stalag. There's been so many times that he cries out in his sleep and wakes up completely soaked in perspiration. It embarrasses him to no end and he apologizes over and over for disturbing me. I've tried so many times to help him but he never talks about it, Mave. Never." She looked over at Peter, sadly watching him as he wheezed and labored for breath even as he slept. She finally stood up after a moment and headed to the kitchen to put her cup away when Mavis intercepted her.

"I'll take that Jo. Now off to bed with ya! I'll not take no for an answer!"

"All right Mave. I'll try my best to get to sleep, I promise." She headed back to the bedroom and Mavis resumed her station at the end of the sofa, keeping a watchful eye over her sick brother. She reached over and put her hand on his blanket covered feet.

"It won't be too much longer Peter luv. Louis is comin' to 'elp us. You 'ang on, 'ear me?"

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Louis returned to his compartment after an aborted journey to the dining car. He had planned to try to force himself to eat a bit of dinner but gave up when he found he simply had no appetite. Coffee would have to suffice for now. As the train neared Dunkerque and loading onto the ferry, he decided to try to get some sleep, as he wanted to be fresh and clear-headed for the next day. He did not want to add one iota to Josephine and Peter's burdens if he could help it. His heart ached for both his English comrade and his wife. _Pierre, mon ami, you are a very fortunate man to have such a woman to love you! Your Josephine reminds me of my Danielle in so many ways. Ah, but then, I suppose that we are both very fortunate men._ _We found good women to share our lives with._ _We managed to survive the greatest calamity to ever befall our countries and yet because of it, we found brothers in a place we least expected to. I hope and pray you will survive now. You endured too much to die now. You do not deserve this mon frère. Your beautiful little family does not deserve this._ He shook his head. Now was not the time to dwell on gloomy thoughts; he knew he would end up in a monstrous funk if he kept thinking like this. He needed to be upbeat and positive so as to help his friends. _Stop thinking and go to bed Louis!_ he chided himself.

Several hours later, loud metallic noises clanking and thumping against the bottom of the floor dragged LeBeau up from a dead sleep. His mind, stranded halfway between consciousness and slumber, dragged itself backwards again. _Chains? Pierre? No Pierre! Not again! It cannot be!_ An image he had thought too terrible to ever recall again filled his mind before he came fully awake. He sat up, sucking in quick breaths as he fearfully looked around, expecting to see his English friend as he had just appeared in his mind. He reined his emotions in with some difficulty, seeking to scrub the disturbing vision from his memory. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, deliberately trying to redirect his thinking to mundane, insignificant things.

The entire compartment gently rocked as the metallic bumping and clanking continued; the rail cars were being secured inside the ferry's hold with heavy chains. _Mon Dieu!_ LeBeau finally succeeded in slowing his breathing and he scrubbed a hand across his eyes before he reached over to turn the light on. He got up and moved to the lavatory to splash cold water on his face as he desperately sought to banish the terrible memory from his thoughts. As he stood staring at his reflection in the mirror, the sight that had distressed him most remained burned in his mind – his friend's anguish-filled, yet determined green eyes. _Do not leave us Pierre! Do not give in!_ _Do not give in! _The unending racket of the clanking chains finally proved overwhelming and he bowed his head to weep unashamedly for his English comrade.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mavis sighed as she repeatedly bathed Peter's face with cool water. The coughing fits had begun again shortly after night fell. _The nights are always bad for 'im! I wonder why...?_ She shook her head. Jo had immediately awakened at the sound of her husband's distress and she joined Mavis at his side. Mavis knew better than to insist that Jo return to bed. As a matter of fact, Jo turned the tables and insisted that Mavis get some rest whilst she watched over Peter. Jo refused to listen to her arguments and Mavis headed for the spare bedroom, defeated.

Jo finally settled on the floor, her head nestled against Peter's shoulder. She had done all she could for him up to this moment. She kept the cool cloth on his forehead refreshed and spent the rest of the night in silent prayer, pleading for the strength to endure whatever lay ahead for Peter.

Several hours later, an insistent, urgent noise gnawed at the edge of her consciousness and finally roused Jo from a near stupor. Not quite asleep, yet not quite awake either, she shook her head vigorously to clear it and finally realized someone was knocking on the front door. She looked over to check on Peter; he had finally slipped into an exhausted sleep after spending most of the night coughing. She gently caressed his cheek and struggled to her feet.

"I'm coming!" she called out. She finally made her way to the door and opened it to find a very worried Louis LeBeau standing there with his fist raised, ready to pound the door down if necessary.

Jo, immensely relieved to see him, cried out only one word, "Louis!"

Mavis had awakened and she ran into the room to see what all the commotion was. She echoed Jo and exclaimed, "Louis!"

LeBeau picked up his suitcase and came into the flat. He dropped it to open his arms up to Jo.

"Josephine! Mavis! Oh mes pauvres! I am so very sorry you must go through this!"

Jo fell into Louis' embrace, unable to hold back the tears. "Oh Louis! Thank God you're here! Peter is so...so very ill! I'm so afraid we're going to lose him this time..."

Louis simply held her, gently patting her on the back as she sobbed. After a few minutes he guided her to the large chair at the end of the sofa. He settled her into the chair and pulled out his handkerchief. He then knelt down before her, his hands enfolding hers.

"Josephine, chérie, listen to me please. Our Pierre is strong. Much stronger than even you know."

Jo burst into sobs again.

"Chérie, chérie, listen. When Pierre recovers, and yes I say _when_ not _if_, I want all of you to come visit Danielle and me. You will stay with us and we will have a wonderful time. Wait and see Josephine. It _will_ happen."

Jo quieted somewhat and looked Louis in the eyes. "Do...you really think...he'll get better?"

"I do chérie. Pierre has much to live for." He smiled and gently squeezed Jo's hands before he motioned Mavis over.

"Oh Louis! I'm so glad you were able to come 'elp Peter." She spoke in a hushed whisper.

"I would reproach myself for the rest of my life had I not, Mavis." He glanced over at the blanket wrapped figure on the sofa and briefly closed his eyes in pain. He took Mavis' arm and guided her to take his place in front of Jo. "Please stay close by Josephine and comfort her while I let Pierre know I am here." Louis moved over to the sofa and knelt down beside his friend. He gently cupped Peter's face in his hands and grimaced at the fever burning beneath his fingertips. "Pierre, mon ami. I do not know if you can hear me but I am here and I will do everything I can to help you."

Peter groaned and twisted his head slightly. He eventually managed to open his eyes halfway, and he gazed vacantly at Louis. He tried to speak several times and finally got out a grating, shaky whisper. "Louie…..? Is…that…you…lil' mate?"

LeBeau grasped his friend at his shoulders. "Oui mon frère. I am right here."

"Every..everyone…safe? Is…is…the Gov…all..right?"

LeBeau blinked in surprise and his eyes blurred with tears as he realized where his friend's mind dwelt. He gently patted Peter's shoulder. "Oui Pierre, oui!" He strove to keep his voice calm as he reassured his sick friend. "We are all safe, thanks to you. Le Colonel is fine. He has a nasty headache but he will be fine. Joe is taking care of him. Do not worry yourself. We are all safe. Rest mon ami. I am here to help take care of you. You must rest, yes?"

Peter sighed in relief, then nodded wearily and closed his eyes. Suddenly his breath hitched in a strangled gasp and he began coughing. He struggled to breathe as LeBeau reached behind him to elevate his upper body. Mavis came near and helped LeBeau prop Peter further up with pillows. He continued coughing, his chest heaving as he tried catch his breath.

"Oh mon pauvre ami!" LeBeau struggled to keep from breaking down at his friend's suffering. His mind once again reached back to the last time he saw Newkirk in this condition. _No! We will not give in! You will live mon frère! Let me help you!_ He sat at Peter's side and reached over to gently massage his chest, trying to help his friend relax. "Pierre, breathe slowly mon ami! Try to breathe slowly. Remember? We have done this before, oui?"

Peter grunted in reply and sought to focus on the sound of Louis' voice. He tried as best he could to obey Louis' instructions and slow what little breath he had. He eventually succeeded and the coughing gradually decreased. He finally lay still, exhausted by the effort. LeBeau gently squeezed his friend's shoulder and then slowly got up.

Jo had been silently watching and she stood up to join LeBeau beside the sofa. Given the conditions outside, a question had suddenly occurred to her. "Louis? How did you get here from the train station?"

Louis looked at her strangely. "Why, I walked chérie. It is not too terribly far from here."

"You...you walked?" Jo was stunned. The last time she had been out, it had taken her nearly an hour to travel three blocks. She ran to the bedroom to look out the window. She and Mavis had been so preoccupied with caring for Peter, they hadn't thought to look outside. To her great surprise, the thick, poisonous yellow fog was gone. The blue sky greeted her as she pulled the curtains aside. _Thank God! It's finally over!_ "Oh Mave! Come here! Look at this! It's finally cleared up!"

Mavis came running and they hugged each other in relief.

Jo grabbed her coat and put it on. "I need to call the hospital again, perhaps there will be a space available for Peter now that the fog has cleared up."

LeBeau had followed them; at Jo's words, he approached to put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "That will not be necessary chérie. I went to the telegraph office before I came here. I have been informed that the situation with the hospitals has not changed; it has actually gotten worse. I was instructed to wait here until the ambulance arrives to take Pierre to hospital."

"Ambulance?" Jo and Mavis both exclaimed together.

"How can there be an ambulance if there is no room at the hospitals?" Jo asked.

LeBeau gestured for Mavis and Jo to sit down on the edge of the bed. "Before I left Paris I sent two telegrams, the one with my reply to you and the other to our former commanding officer, General Hogan. As I did not know the complete situation here in London, I asked him for any help he could give. I received his reply before I arrived here at your door." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cable. He handed it to Jo, who took it and eagerly read it.

"Millbank? Peter's going to be taken back to Millbank?" She raised puzzled eyes to LeBeau. "But Peter's not in the military. Millbank is a military hospital, Louis!"

"Oui chérie, it is. Do not worry, everything will be all right. General Hogan has arranged for everything. He takes care of his men chérie. Even now he takes care of his men."

"Thank God!" sighed Jo. She had met the General only briefly at the end of the war; he had been a Colonel then and had come to visit Peter as he convalesced from his first life-threatening bout with pneumonia. She had been reassigned by that time, but made the special effort to come meet him at Peter's request. She fondly remembered how proud Peter was to introduce her to his commanding officer, and how equally proud Colonel Hogan was to inform Peter that he had been promoted to Warrant Officer. She had realized then what a special group of men these were, and now felt a sudden surge of confidence knowing Hogan was still a part of Peter's life.

LeBeau gestured at both Jo and Mavis. "Now mes chéris, I want you both to rest! I will take care of Pierre until he is taken to hospital. Trust me, I have much practice in this! I have done this many times before, during the war. Do not worry yourselves!"

Jo smiled. "I'm not worried Louis. I know you will take good care of Peter." She turned to Mavis. "What do you say Mave? A few hours of sleep should do us both a wonder!" She turned back to Louis. "Thank you Louis. For both Mavis and myself, and especially for Peter."

Louis kissed each of them on both cheeks. "You are welcome. Rest yourselves now so that we may be refreshed and ready to help Peter in hospital."

While Mavis and Jo slept, LeBeau fussed over Peter. He stoked the fire, as the room had grown a bit too cool for his liking. He then massaged some of his grand-mère's balm onto Peter's chest, following it up with a hot towel just as he done on several occasions during their POW days in Stalag 13. "Just like old times, eh Pierre?" he whispered as he wrapped his friend snugly back within his blankets. "Rest mon ami. You will be on your way to the hospital soon. It is just a matter of time." Peter didn't respond or move at all, and LeBeau prayed that the ambulance would arrive soon. He knew that General Hogan would come through for them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**** – Life Lies Waiting**

Thirty minutes later, Peter stirred and cried out feebly, "Jo...? Jo...where...where...are...you..?"

LeBeau had been in the kitchen warming some broth. He dashed into the lounge and knelt beside the sofa to try to soothe his friend. He laid a gentle hand on Peter's burning forehead and spoke softly. "Pierre...Pierre...do not worry yourself mon ami. Your Josephine is asleep in the next room." LeBeau didn't want Jo to awaken if he could help it; both she and Mavis were in desperate need of extended rest.

Peter shook his head and grimaced as if in pain. "No...no...I...I...need…Jo..." his voice trailed off as he again had to fight for air.

"Pierre! Slowly, mon ami, slowly. Breathe slowly." LeBeau repeated the phrase over and over until Newkirk finally caught his breath. Satisfied that his English friend had calmed, LeBeau gently daubed the perspiration from his face. "Please rest Pierre. I will bring you some broth. You need nourishment, mon ami."

He headed back to the kitchen and returned with a mug of warm broth. He sat beside Peter and gently elevated his shoulders to enable him to bring the mug safely to his lips. "Take as much as you can mon ami. It will help you."

Peter took several swallows and then turned his head away. LeBeau shook his head in dismay but didn't try to force him to drink any more. He set the mug aside and settled Peter back onto the sofa, wincing at the bubbly rattling noise that sounded with each breath. "Lie back and rest mon ami. Close your eyes and rest. All will be well. Please let us take care of you Pierre."

Peter shivered violently and suddenly reached out to grab LeBeau's arm. The effort seemed to exhaust him further. He whispered, "Louie….? Please…take…care….care of…Jo…and me…boys…please…lil' mate...?"

LeBeau's heart skipped a beat upon hearing those words. He grasped Peter's face between both his hands and leaned in close to whisper intensely between teeth he had suddenly clenched in fear, "No! No mon ami! Do not say that! You will survive Pierre!"

In a near panic, he had unconsciously tightened his grip on his friend's face. Peter winced in pain and LeBeau released him with a horrified gasp. "Oh mon ami, please forgive me! Of course I will do so while you are ill Pierre. That is also why I am here. But mon ami, you _will_ get better! Trust me. You _will_ be there for your petite famille."

"Tired….Louis…so very…tired…" he rasped hoarsely.

LeBeau blinked back tears at the weary resignation in Peter's words. "I know Pierre. Mon Dieu, how well I know. You cannot give in to it mon frère. You must fight back, as you did before, remember? You have so much more to live for now my friend. Your beautiful Josephine needs you Pierre. Your precious boys need you. Your dear sister Mavis needs you." He gently took Peter by his shoulders, his voice shaking as he whispered, "And I need you, mon ami,. Please do not leave us."

"Don't….want…to...leave. Just…so tired…" Peter's voice trailed off into a gasp and he choked back a cough. His eyes rolled closed as LeBeau grasped his hand tightly. The Frenchman shuddered as he noted the faintest tinge of blue beginning to shade Peter's lips.

LeBeau literally shook with the effort it took to quell his emotions at his friend's plight. _Do not give up mon ami! Please do not give up!_ He bowed his head and uttered a desperate prayer, pleading for help to arrive soon, all the while keeping a firm grip on Peter's hand as he sat beside him. He raised his head to stare unseeingly at the fire as the memories assailed him yet again.

Each one of Colonel Hogan's team rotated in helping Wilson take care of Peter as he lay desperately ill in the Stalag's infirmary. That particular day had been LeBeau's turn. He sat opposite the medic as Wilson tried to alleviate the effects of the fever.

"God no! He's already becoming cyanotic!" Wilson muttered. He sat beside Peter's cot, gently wiping his patient's hot, flushed face with a cool, wet cloth.

LeBeau, disturbed by the underlying tone of alarm he heard in Wilson's voice, asked, "What does that mean Joe?"

"It means he's not getting enough oxygen. His blood is becoming deoxygenated."

LeBeau moved to Wilson's side. "How can you tell?"

Wilson pointed at Peter's face. "Look at his lips. See that faint bluish tint?" The Frenchman nodded warily. "That's not a good sign Louis. It means we've got to get him to a hospital as soon as possible. Otherwise, he's not going to survive."

"Not survive? Joe it cannot be!" The expression on Wilson's face told him otherwise and LeBeau stiffened in stunned disbelief. Here they had come relatively unscathed all the way to the end and now his English friend was going to die? Was Hochstetter going to have a victory after all, however small? It was simply inconceivable!

Wilson put a hand on LeBeau's arm and spoke very softly to him. "Louis, please go get the Colonel."

It took LeBeau a full minute to realize that Wilson had spoken to him. He shook his head and then nodded. "Oui, Joe. I will be back in a moment with Colonel Hogan." He bundled himself up and took off for the barracks.

Once there, he flung the door open and silently faced the knot of men gathered around the table near the stove. He didn't need to say a single word. The Colonel nodded slightly as he saw the expression on his French Corporal's face. He grabbed his coat and immediately jumped up to sprint across the compound to the infirmary with LeBeau following in his wake.

Wilson didn't get up from his seat beside Newkirk, and he continued to lave the Englishman's face with cool water as he talked. Hogan stood next to him, his arms wrapped around his torso, as he listened intently to the medic's description of his English Corporal's deteriorating condition. LeBeau stood off to the side, growing increasingly uneasy as he too listened to Wilson's words.

Hogan heard Wilson out and then asked, "Bottom line, Joe?"

Wilson took a deep breath before answering his CO's question. "Sir, the bottom line is that Peter's going to die in less than a week if we don't get him some serious medical care."

Hogan inhaled sharply at the medic's statement. He knew that the situation was critical, but hadn't realized it was already a matter of life or death. "He's gotten worse that quickly?"

Wilson nodded. "Yes sir. Cyanosis is the beginning of the end."

The Colonel's next words took both Wilson and LeBeau completely by surprise. "Then we've got to get him to London!"

The fire had burned down low as LeBeau came back to himself. "London", he whispered sadly. He reached over and gently smoothed Peter's damp hair back from his forehead. "You must survive mon ami! You must! You will not give up!" He released his friend's hand and rearranged the blankets before he stood up. He sighed and then turned sharply at the sound of some sort of bustle and noise in the hallway, followed by a knock at the door.

LeBeau moved quickly to open the door and spoke brusquely before he even noticed who was there. "Calme s'il vous plaît! May I help you?"

A tall, dark headed man in the uniform of an RAF Air Vice Marshal stood there. He leaned in and curiously examined the diminutive Frenchman before speaking. "It's LeBeau, isn't it?"

LeBeau, taken off guard, simply nodded at first. The man looked very familiar to him but he could not remember his name to save his life. "Oui. I beg your pardon. I am at a loss to recall your name."

The man nodded. "I was a Group Captain the last time we met, several years ago." LeBeau remained silent. The man tried again. "Rob's friend? Group Captain Roberts."

_Group Captain Roberts? Oh yes! Colonel Hogan's friend__! The foiled plot to assassinate Churchill!_ How could he forget? He shook his head as he made his apologies. "Oh yes! Please forgive me, I am not thinking very clearly right now. Mon ami is very seriously ill. I am awaiting the arrival of the ambulance to take him to hospital."

"Vice Marshal Roberts at your service! I came up to ensure Rob had given me the correct address. The orderlies are waiting at the landing at the far end of the hall. I will go and fetch them right now." Roberts peered over LeBeau's shoulder to look inside the flat. "How is Newkirk faring?"

"Not well at all. He is declining rapidly. I cannot thank you enough for coming."

"Rob asked me to get things moving after he encountered difficulties with the hospital administration. I am very sorry for the delay. I hope Newkirk's condition hasn't deteriorated too terribly because of it."

"You need not apologize Vice Marshal. I am very happy to see you, and I know Josephine and Mavis will be as well."

"Please, call me Robbie. Let me go get the orderlies and I will be right back."

LeBeau sighed and uttered a short prayer of thanks as he went to awaken Jo and Mavis.

By the time Roberts returned with the orderlies and a stretcher, Jo and Mavis were awake and ready to accompany Peter to hospital. LeBeau banked the fire as Jo knelt beside the sofa to speak to her husband. She gently caressed the right side of his head as she spoke to him nearly face to face.

"Peter? Peter, listen to me. The ambulance is here and you're going to hospital now. We'll be putting you onto a stretcher and then you'll be taken downstairs to the ambulance. Mavis, Louis and I will be with you every step of the way darling. So please don't worry about anything. Relax and let us take care of you."

Peter moved his head slightly in response. Jo looked up and nodded at the orderlies as they stood behind the sofa. "We're ready gentlemen." She rose and stepped out of their way as they moved to lift him off the sofa.

"No!" Peter grunted and twisted violently as they tried to lift him. They had to put him back down to avoid dropping him on the floor. He fought off their repeated attempts to lift him with an unexpected strength.

Startled, Jo cried out, "Peter!" She gently grasped his face in her hands and again leaned down close to speak directly to him. "Peter darling, you're going to hospital. Do you understand? You're going to hospital. Please calm down so we can get you there."

She straightened and turned to stare sadly at LeBeau. He knelt down to speak to his friend. "Pierre, you are home. You are in London. Do not upset yourself mon ami. We are taking you to hospital. General Hogan has arranged for you to get the care you so desperately need."

The mention of Hogan's name brought forth a surprisingly loud cry of anguish from Peter.

"No Colonel! Don't…make…me…leave. Please…? All of…us…out…gate…all of us…together...!"

LeBeau continued to try to soothe his distraught friend. "Pierre, you must go to hospital! You are very ill! Please do not fight us mon frère, please! Let these men put you onto the stretcher!

His words had no effect as Peter continued to shake his head and plead, "Please, Gov….please…let me…stay…" his voice broke midway and then trailed off completely as exhaustion finally overtook him.

Peter's anguished words broke the Frenchman's heart. He stood up and Jo again nodded to the attendants. They gently lifted a now unresisting Peter onto the stretcher, wrapping him tightly in blankets before belting him in and moving out the door to the waiting ambulance.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter ****6 – The Persistence of Memory**

Jo, Mavis and LeBeau followed directly behind the orderlies as they carried Peter downstairs and out the front door. Peter constantly shivered and murmured forlornly, calling for LeBeau. "Louis…? Don't…let…'em…send…me…'ome…please…? Please 'elp…me…lil mate…"

LeBeau briefly turned away to wipe his eyes and then he rushed downstairs to walk beside the stretcher. He spoke softly, " Écoutez Pierre. You are home, in London. La guerre est finie, mon frère. Calm yourself. You are going to hospital."

Peter continued to protest in painful whispers as LeBeau stood aside to allow the orderlies access to the ambulance. Roberts had preceded them all downstairs to open the ambulance doors and he stood silently at the rear of the vehicle as the orderlies approached.

Jo stood on the building's front stoop and watched as the men carefully loaded the stretcher holding her husband onto the ambulance. She took a deep draught of the now fresh, clean yet still cold air and looked around, shaking her head in amazement. The contrast to the previous few days was simply astounding. She hoped and prayed to never see a London particular like the one just past. She was convinced that the poisonous air was responsible for her husband's dire condition.

LeBeau stood beside the ambulance, unsure of what to do next. He wanted more than anything to climb into the back of the ambulance and accompany Peter to the hospital but did not want to assume to take precedence over Jo. He knew she should be the one to ride with her husband.

Roberts approached Mavis and Jo and gestured to the staff car parked in front of the ambulance. "May I offer you a ride to the hospital?"

Jo turned and looked back at LeBeau as he stood uncertainly at the rear of the ambulance. She met his eyes, surprised by the quiet desperation she saw in them. She nodded at the Frenchman, who silently acknowledged her with a relieved sigh and a small nod of his own. She then turned to address Roberts. "Yes Vice Marshal. Mavis and I would be happy to accept your kind offer."

LeBeau sighed to himself, _Merci Josephine!_ He clambered into the back of the ambulance and clasped Peter's hand with a tight grip in an effort to comfort him. The ambulance took off with a slight jolt as Peter continued to murmur, his words becoming more strident.

"Where...where's...everyone...Louis? They...all...right...?" He began to move agitatedly on the stretcher and cried out, "Where are ya mates?"

LeBeau released Peter's hand and once again took his face in both hands, forcing his friend's attention to him. "Pierre! Listen to me! Everyone is fine! You saved us! Do you not remember mon ami?

Peter continued to plead, his mind adrift in the past, "Why...why...wontcha...answer me...mates? Why...?"

LeBeau bit his lip to keep fresh tears at bay. He simply did not know what else to say to ease Peter's distress. _Oh Pierre! Why do you continue to call out mon frère? Why?_ He pulled out his handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from his friend's face and ended up repeatedly smoothing Peter's hair back off his forehead, trying to calm not only his friend, but himself as well. "Pierre, please, please do not worry about us! We are all safe and well! You saved us! Please believe me! You saved us! Please rest mon ami!"

Peter's voice gradually deteriorated to nothing but a harsh wheezing, yet he continued to try to call out to his friends. LeBeau whispered to him, "Do not try to speak Pierre! Please, save your breath and rest!"

As he feared would happen, Peter's breath hitched and he launched into a violent coughing fit. LeBeau quickly unbuckled two of the leather straps holding Peter onto the stretcher and tried to elevate his upper body with rolled up blankets. Peter couldn't stop coughing long enough to regain his breath and his eyes grew wild as he slowly ran out of air. LeBeau tried to get his panicked friend's attention. "Pierre! Pierre! Look at me! Look at me! Let me help you. Relax mon ami. Relax." He decided to try a different tack. "Pierre, remember when Joe, André, Richard and I helped you in the infirmary? Remember? We were all there, Colonel Hogan as well. Remember, when you were so ill before? Please try to remember Pierre!"

_Remember Pierre! __If you could only remember then you will realize we are all fine!_ Unfortunately LeBeau himself remembered that time all too well.

LeBeau, Carter and Baker crouched alongside Newkirk's cot in the infirmary while the Colonel stood at the foot of the cot, his arms wrapped around himself. Wilson was perched on the edge of the cot, checking his patient's pulse. They all had thought that the worst of the Englishman's crisis had passed, so Wilson's next words shocked them all.

Wilson looked up. "I'm worried about him. Fellas, we've got to watch him very carefully for the next few days."

Everyone's gaze focused on Newkirk, who lay periodically shivering even though he was snugly cocooned within several blankets.

Carter edged closer and grasped Wilson's arm. "What do you mean Joe? He's getting better, isn't he?"

Wilson nodded slowly. "It depends Andrew. You all saw what happened to him. I'm surprised he's doing as well as he is, after everything he's been through."

"It has only been four days Joe," LeBeau commented nervously. "Surely he will recover?"

Wilson sighed and leaned down to place his ear against Newkirk's chest. "I can already hear it." He raised his head and looked at each of them in turn before speaking again. "I'm afraid he's beginning to develop pneumonia."

A collective gasp arose and Wilson continued. "I'm going to keep a close eye on him but I will need all of you to watch him as well and keep me advised of any changes." He outlined the symptoms they needed to note, finishing with, "Peter's life may depend on how quickly we respond to his condition."

Wilson's fears proved true as the next stage of their ordeal began in earnest two days later. LeBeau had just come into the infirmary to take over the watch from Carter when Newkirk nearly choked and began a bout of harsh, wet coughing.

Carter's eyes widened in panic as he called to LeBeau, "What are we supposed to do Louis?"

LeBeau rushed to Newkirk's side and shoved Carter towards the door, "André go get Joe!" Wilson had taken a quick break to update the Colonel on Newkirk's condition. Carter nodded and leaped for the door, shrugging into his coat as he ran.

From that point forward, Newkirk's condition gradually deteriorated to the stage where they all despaired for his survival. _Very much like his condition now_ thought LeBeau as he tried to help his friend in his desperate fight for air. LeBeau continued to exhort Peter to calm down, to try to slow his attempts to breathe, to not give up.

He could see Peter trying to focus, trying to listen as best he could, despite the interminable coughing. Suddenly, LeBeau heard a bizarre popping sound. Peter cried out incoherently and collapsed back onto the stretcher, the coughing now interspersed with whimpers and groans of pain.

"Mon Dieu! Pierre! What is wrong? What has happened?" LeBeau banged his fist against the partition separating the rear of the ambulance from the front.

The door slid open and an orderly peered through. "What's wrong?"

LeBeau leaned forward to answer. "My friend has been unable to stop coughing. I heard a strange popping noise and..."

The orderly cut him off before he could finish with a knowing nod of the head, "Oh right. Probably broke a rib. Rather common in these cases."

LeBeau inwardly seethed at the man's mundanely insensitive response. _Pierre cannot breathe and is in horrible pain, yet you call it common?_ What he said aloud was, "Please is there anything you can do?"

The man shook his head. "Sorry mate. We're not medics, just transport. If it's any consolation, we'll be arriving at Millbank in a few minutes."

LeBeau ground his teeth and managed to get out a barely civil "merci" before turning his full attention back to Peter. He collapsed on the floor of the ambulance beside Peter and began speaking softly to him, trying to distract his friend's mind from the pain. "A few minutes more, mon ami. Just a few minutes more and you will get the help you need. Just a few minutes more…"

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Jo and Mavis tried to maintain a semblance of calm as the staff car followed the ambulance on the way to Millbank. Mavis found it especially challenging to keep from bursting into tears. She succeeded, but just barely. Jo wrapped a supportive arm around her sister-in-law, realizing that Mavis was very nearly at the end of her endurance. Now that they were on the way to hospital the extreme difficulty of the past few days finally made itself felt. The stressful effects of being cooped up in the flat with Peter so very ill came roaring to the surface.

Roberts leaned forward and handed Jo a handkerchief. She passed it to Mavis, who leaned her face into Jo's shoulder as she tried to compose herself.

"Thank you Vice Marshal."

Roberts nodded. "Please, Mrs. Newkirk, call me Robbie."

Jo smiled at him, "As that is also our oldest son's nickname, I shan't easily forget it. And please, call me Jo."

Roberts chuckled. "I assume your son is named after Rob?"

Jo nodded as she spoke, "Yes, both of our boys are named after Peter's mates in the stalag. Our oldest son's full name is Robert Louis and our youngest son is Andrew James. He promised me I could name our next child after my side of the family…that is, if we're granted the opportunity to even have another one with Peter being so very ill…" She lowered her head briefly and Roberts put his hand over hers sympathetically. She looked up again as he spoke.

"Don't worry Jo. One of the many things I learned from the war is to never give up. Your husband is definitely not a shirker. On the contrary, he's quite a fighter if I remember aright." Roberts sat back and shook his head slightly. "I don't think I'll ever meet another group of men like those under Rob's command at Stalag 13."

Jo, her curiosity piqued by Roberts' comment, leaned forward slightly. "Did you know Peter when he was in the stalag?"

"I met him when I was captured and taken to Stalag 13," he replied slowly. _Careful now. Rob's operation is still classified_, he reminded himself. _Don't give anything away you shouldn't._

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. Peter has never spoken of his time in the stalag, apart from his mates. He's told me all about them and how he feels about them. As for the other, I imagine he will tell me when he's ready and if he doesn't, well, then I suppose that I didn't really need to know."

Roberts nodded. "You need not apologize. You have a very practical way of looking at this situation and you're very wise not to prod him on it. I am sure he will tell you when he's ready." _More than likely when it's declassified, if at all_ he noted to himself. Roberts was aware of Newkirk's implicit loyalty to Hogan, and he figured for that reason alone, Newkirk would more than likely take his secrets to the grave.

Jo nodded sadly and let the conversation die off for now. She turned her attention back to comforting Mavis for the rest of the journey to the hospital.

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The ambulance pulled into the hospital drive and finally came to a stop. The orderlies exited and moved to open the rear doors of the vehicle. LeBeau leaped out, upset and impatient with any delay, whether real or imagined. "Please hurry! He is in a great amount of pain!" His voice broke as he pleaded with the orderlies.

Roberts' staff car pulled up alongside and Jo exited to rush to the back of the ambulance. "Louis! What's wrong? What's happened?"

LeBeau turned to her, the tears he couldn't hold back streaming down his face. "Pierre…he could not stop coughing. I fear he has broken a rib. He is in…so much pain…"

Mavis came round the side of the ambulance, accompanied by Roberts. She dissolved into sobs when she heard LeBeau's words and sagged heavily against the Vice Marshal. He wrapped his arms around her to keep her from collapsing.

"Mave!" Jo dashed to Mavis' side and helped Roberts keep her on her feet. "Vice Marshal, please help Louis with Peter. I'll take Mave inside."

Roberts nodded tersely. He first made sure that Jo and Mavis were safely on their way inside the hospital before he returned to the ambulance. He strode to the rear of the vehicle and stood next to LeBeau. "Come on lads! Get him inside quickly!"

The orderlies exited the ambulance and headed towards the A&E unit entrance. Roberts gently grasped LeBeau's shoulders and steered him after them. "Don't worry LeBeau," he whispered encouragingly. "We did this seven years ago and he got along fine. Newkirk was a fighter back then and I don't think he's changed much in the interim."

LeBeau stared up at Roberts in shock. _So he was the 'ace up the sleeve' Colonel Hogan referred to?_ He had always wondered how the Colonel managed to have Newkirk airlifted out of a Germany convulsing in the chaotic death throes of the Third Reich. All underground and sabotage activity had been shut down at London's direct order, and they had categorically refused to send a plane to pick up Papa Bear's critically ill RAF Corporal. Hogan had been utterly and stunningly furious. The men had never seen their CO that angry and stayed clear of him for the rest of that day, spending their time keeping vigil over Newkirk. LeBeau had discreetly tried to convince the others that perhaps they should now prepare themselves for the worst, given London's refusal to help. He personally tried to hold onto some small shred of hope; nonetheless, he had never felt so desolate and crushed as he had at that moment.

The men surrounded Newkirk's bed, sitting quietly as each of them sank further into his own private misery. No one had the desire to speak, not even the notoriously garrulous Carter. They simply watched over and cared for their friend as he lay on his cot, desperately struggling to breathe. LeBeau periodically refreshed the wet cloth on Newkirk's forehead, trying to give some respite from the merciless fever. Wilson sat at his desk, searching for the appropriate words to put in his log. He'd never before had to document a death that occurred due to inexcusable neglect. He certainly wasn't looking forward to the atmosphere around the camp after Newkirk's now apparently imminent demise. He looked up when the door to the infirmary opened to reveal Colonel Hogan.

The Colonel strode to the foot of Newkirk's cot and asked whomever had the temerity to answer, "How is he?"

LeBeau raised his head and spoke sadly to his commanding officer, "He is much worse mon Colonel. Look at his hands."

Hogan leaned down to examine Newkirk's hands and frowned at the sight of his pale blue fingernails. He reached down to gently cup the side of Newkirk's head in his hand. "Hang on Peter," he whispered.

Wilson made his way over to Newkirk's bedside and stood beside Hogan. "It's only a matter of days now, Colonel. I'm sorry."

Hogan straightened and wrapped his arms around himself. "Don't apologize Joe. You have nothing to apologize for. I put the blame for this squarely on London. They're letting some desk bound paper pushers condemn Peter to death." He shook his head and began to pace. "Well I've come to tell you fellas that I'm not gonna let that happen. I'm taking a page out of Peter's book." They all stared at their CO, dumbfounded. "I've got an ace up my sleeve this time. I just spoke to him and he's assured me that he will take my request to the highest authority. He'll let me know as soon as possible." The Colonel turned and put his hand on Baker's shoulder, prompting him to stand up. "Richard, I hate to ask you this right now but would you mind sticking close to the radio room until we receive his reply?"

Baker looked at the Colonel and then back over at Newkirk. "Colonel I don't mind at all if it'll help Peter." He got up and headed towards the door.

Hogan nodded. "Thanks Richard. I know Peter appreciates it too."

"He'd do the same for me sir." Baker paused before he opened the door. "I just want to say thank you Colonel, for doing this for Peter. I'll let you know the minute I hear something."

Baker proved true to his word. He had rushed back to the infirmary later the same day, ecstatically telling everyone that he had received a transmission stating that a plane would be sent the next evening to transport Newkirk directly to a field hospital in southern England. LeBeau shook his head. It all made sense now. He stopped and turned to face Roberts. "Vice Marshal?"

"Yes LeBeau?"

"Who was the 'highest authority' that saved Pierre's life seven years ago?"

Roberts smiled and dropped his head briefly. "Why the right honorable Prime Minister, who else?"

_Mon Dieu!_ LeBeau mentally kicked himself for forgetting that Roberts had indeed been on Churchill's wartime staff. Hogan had never revealed how he had managed to get Newkirk to London. Roberts took LeBeau's arm and walked him into the A&E. LeBeau managed to stammer, "We, that is Pierre, myself, all of our friends from Stalag 13, owe you more thanks than I can ever say."

"You are most welcome LeBeau. It was the very least I could do after what you chaps did for the Prime Minister and myself."

_O__n récolte ce qu'on a semé_, thought LeBeau. Who could have known? He stopped suddenly as a doctor came into view. He carried a clipboard on which he was furiously scribbling. LeBeau approached him and spoke. "Pardon me, doctor. Where have they taken Pierre?"

"Hmmmm? One minute. There." The doctor now turned his attention to the small Frenchman standing before him. "Now what was it you asked?"

LeBeau sighed, inwardly seething at the medical profession's seeming lack of interest and compassion. "I said, where have they taken Pierre?"

"Pierre?" The doctor looked taken aback for a long moment. "Who on earth is Pierre?" A light suddenly came on. "Oh…you mean the pneumonia case just brought in on special orders?"

"His name is Pierre, that is, Peter."

"Yes, yes, I know who you mean now my good man. He has been taken into emergency treatment. I am afraid you will have to go to the waiting room now."

Roberts stepped forward before the doctor could shunt LeBeau off to the side. "Doctor, may I please have a word?" He guided the physician over by the wall and looked back at LeBeau. "Please excuse us a moment Louis."

LeBeau could not hear the conversation but saw a definite change in the doctor's countenance and attitude as the Vice Marshal calmly spoke to him. Roberts shook the man's hand and then headed back to where LeBeau stood. He gave the Frenchman a knowing wink and wrapped an arm around LeBeau's shoulders. "Right. That's sorted then. Let's go see where Jo and Mavis have gotten to, shall we?"

LeBeau nodded dumbly and accompanied Roberts down the hall in search of the hospital's waiting area.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter ****7 – Fighting the Good Fight**

Jo swallowed hard, stunned by the immediacy of the memories threatening to overwhelm her as she walked into Millbank's main entrance. She tried to distract herself by focusing all of her attention on Mavis, who was still sobbing uncontrollably in her arms.

Temporarily crushing her concerns for Peter deep down inside herself, Jo told Mavis what they both needed to hear. "Shhh Mave. It will be all right. Peter will be all right, dear. We've gotten him to proper medical care now. I know they will do everything in their power to help him."

Mavis simply nodded her head. "I…I…'ope…so…" she whispered. "'e's never 'ad it easy Jo. Never. What'd…'e do…to deserve….this…?"

Jo sympathized with Mavis' question. Peter's first bout with pneumonia proved severe enough for three lifetimes and yet here he was, stricken again. Not to mention all the other hardships he must have endured when he had been held as a prisoner of war for four years. And even before that, his life on London's mean streets must have been brutal. _What indeed?_ Jo thought, _Why does life have to be such a struggle?_ She deliberately put those thoughts aside for now and stood still for a moment as she tried to get her bearings.

A nurse on her way across the reception room noticed them standing there and paused, "May I help you?"

"Yes please. My husband was just brought in to the A&E. Where may we wait whilst he is being evaluated?"

"Oh yes, the special case." The nurse nodded knowingly and stepped over to help Jo with Mavis. "The doctor on call just set up a private waiting room for you. I'd be happy to take you there. You both look like you need to rest."

Jo sighed in relief. "Thank you. Thank you so much." She whispered to Mavis, "Come on Mave. Just a little farther and we'll be able to sit down."

Mavis tried to pull herself together and nodded as she let Jo guide her down the hallway. "I'm sorry Jo…I…I usually keep meself together better than this…"

"Hush Mave!" whispered Jo. "You've no need to apologize." Embarrassment about public displays of normal emotion was a well-known Newkirk family trait.

Mavis continued on as though she hadn't heard Jo speak. "It's just that…when I saw Louis cryin' and 'eard Peter chokin' and moanin' in pain, I just…just…couldn't 'elp it." She struggled to keep her tears at bay as they followed the nurse into a small private room located adjacent to the A&E area. Jo guided Mavis to the large sofa and gently eased her down.

The nurse asked Jo, "Will you be all right?" At Jo's nod, she headed for the door, "I will bring you some tea. If you need anything whilst I'm away, please do not hesitate to ask for assistance. There is a nurse's station at the end of the hallway."

"Thank you for your help." The nurse nodded before she left, and Jo turned her attention back to Mavis.

"Shhh, don't you worry Mave. Let's get a bit of rest whilst we can." Jo sat down and drew Mavis' head down onto her shoulder. She wrapped her arm securely around Mavis and held her close. "Lean on me Mave. We'll get through this together." Jo wearily dropped her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. She set her mind adrift, reflecting on the last time she had seen Mavis this distraught.

It was at that point she realized that she was becoming too personally involved with this case. The doctor had pulled her aside to update her on his patient's status and it was not optimistic. For reasons unknown, Peter wasn't responding to the penicillin regimen and the doctor feared the infection would soon spread to his bloodstream, resulting in a fatal sepsis. Jo held her emotions close for as long as she needed to but became physically sick to her stomach as soon as the doctor left. After she pulled herself together, she sought the doctor out and asked permission to accompany him when he told Peter's sister the bad news. She knew that Mavis would be devastated and would need her support.

She had been right. Mavis fell completely to pieces when she heard the dire prognosis. Jo had had to give her a mild sedative to calm her down. The doctor gave her permission to take Mavis to an unoccupied room so she could rest undisturbed. Jo never forgot that evening. She remained at Mavis' side for the next few hours, simply holding her hand and reassuring her that as long as Peter still lived there was hope. After an hour or so, Mavis finally calmed down enough to talk.

"I don't know what I'll do without 'im. 'e's been me big brother, me mother and me father. 'e don't deserve to die Jo! I was so worried about 'im in that prison camp and now it's come to this!"

"I know dear. I know. Life is horribly unfair sometimes."

"Peter's never gotten a fair shake Jo. 'e's got such a good 'eart. 'e always protected me from…" Mavis trailed off, reluctant to reveal too much about their childhood.

"From what dear?" Jo knew it wasn't any of her business but felt that Mavis needed to talk to come to grips with this situation. Mavis remained silent a few minutes and then sighed.

"'e always protected me from our Da. When Da would come 'ome drunk, 'e'd knock about whoever was near. Peter always made sure I wasn't around Da much. 'e'd bring me in 'is room and lock the door. When Da would pound on the door, Peter would put me under 'is bed or in the wardrobe and tell me stay there, no matter what. 'e'd go out there every time and confront 'im. They'd 'ave an awful row and 'e'd come back with 'is lip split or 'is eye swollen or worse. 'e'd tell me to come out from under the bed, give me a hug and say that everythin' was okay. Even then I knew it wasn't okay. 'e took the beatings from Da so I wouldn't get 'urt. Oh Jo, 'e don't deserve to die!" Mavis softly sobbed as she thought of her brother.

Jo reached over to stroke Mavis' hair, desperately wanting to reassure and calm her. She was aghast that anyone had to endure such terrible things, much less a child, and silently thanked God that her own parents loved and cherished her. She now wished she hadn't encouraged Mavis to reveal these dreadful memories. "Shhhh Mave. Let's not think of that right now. He's still alive. From what you've told me, I feel that your brother is a fighter. I don't think he's given up and neither should we."

Mavis nodded. "That 'e is! 'e's a fighter all right. 'e useta write me letters from the stalag encouragin' me not to give up. Jo, those letters were the only thing what kept me goin'. 'ere I was draggin' meself about worried to death about 'im and 'e's in prison worried to death about me! But that's me brother Peter…'e's a worrier…" The thought brought a small smile to Mavis' face before she tried to stifle a yawn. "Gettin' sleepy...guess I should take a little kip…"

Jo had remained for as long as it took Mavis to fall asleep. She pulled a blanket out of the nearby cupboard and tucked it around her before she headed to Peter's room. She stopped just outside the door and took a deep breath to gather her wits about her. It seemed strange but Jo felt like she knew Peter already, even though he had not regained consciousness since being admitted.

He lay harshly gasping for breath within an oxygen tent. She crept to his bedside and reached inside the tent to take his hand in hers. She leaned down and spoke softly, "Peter I just wanted to tell you how proud I am that you haven't given up. Mavis is proud of you too. I know you love her with all your heart Peter, and she's here for you. We both are, so please, please keep fighting. You're strong. You can beat this. I know you can." She thought she felt his hand ever so gently squeeze hers. It was probably just an involuntary muscle twitch due to his breathing difficulties. Or perhaps it was just her exhausted mind playing tricks on her. She preferred to think it was Peter's way of acknowledging her. She patted his hand gently and whispered, "I will be back to check on you later." She released his hand and turned to leave.

A ceramic-like clattering sound roused Jo from a half-doze. She opened her eyes to find the nurse setting a large tray on the low table in front of the sofa. Mavis was thankfully asleep, so Jo nodded her thanks to the nurse, who nodded back and silently mouthed _I'll be back later_ before she left. The tray contained a pot of tea, several cups and plates, sugar, cream and a plate of assorted biscuits. Jo smiled despite her grief. The sight of the biscuits invariably reminded her of her Robbie. That child lived and breathed for biscuits. Whenever she baked homemade biscuits, Peter humorously complained that he never got a chance to sample his wife's wares because of his ravenous son. She made a mental note to call her parents to check on the boys. God knows she hadn't meant to neglect them, but with their father being so ill it just couldn't be helped. Jo extricated herself from Mavis without waking her, gently laying her down on the sofa before she covered her with a blanket. She then poured herself a cup of tea and sat quietly, waiting for news of her husband.

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LeBeau and Roberts wandered the halls until they found the main nursing station. Apparently the doctor in the A&E had already alerted the staff, for they were quickly ushered to the private room where Jo and Mavis already were.

Roberts turned to the nurse as she led them to the room and asked where he might procure a cup of coffee. LeBeau nodded his agreement with the request. The nurse opened the door to the room, beckoned them to enter and whispered, "I will have a pot of coffee brought in for you."

"Thank you," whispered Roberts. He too had noticed that Mavis was asleep. He and LeBeau pulled up a couple of chairs and sat down near where Jo sat at the far end of the sofa. LeBeau wearily dropped his head into his hands.

Jo leaned forward, "Is there any news of Peter?"

LeBeau looked up and shook his head sadly. "We could not see him after he was taken into the emergency treatment area."

Roberts leaned forward. "I have been assured that they will notify us of his condition as soon as he has been examined."

"How was he when they took him in? Was there...any improvement...at all?"

LeBeau took Jo's hand in his. "No chérie, there was not. He was the same." He gestured in Mavis' direction. "How is Mavis?"

"Poor dear. She's completely exhausted and worn down with worry. I hope she will be able to sleep for a good long while. She needs it."

"As do you Josephine." LeBeau's eyes narrowed with concern. He got up and took the tea cup out of her hand. "S'il vous plaît chérie. Lean back onto the sofa and close your eyes. Pierre will need us to be strong for him. Rest. I will be right here." Jo had just closed her eyes when a nurse quietly entered the room carrying a tray. She set a full pot of coffee on the table, along with several cups and more cream and sugar. She then went to a closet at the far end of the room and brought out several more blankets, as well as pillows. LeBeau whispered his thanks and the nurse left.

Roberts poured each of them a steaming cup of coffee and sat back with a near silent sigh. "Well old man, I think we've done what we can for now. It's up to Newkirk and the doctors now."

"Oui, you are right." LeBeau gratefully sipped at his coffee. "Pierre is strong. He survived before. He did not give in to the despair. I pray he will not give in now."

Roberts nodded tiredly and drained his cup in a few gulps. He set his empty cup on the tray, then stood up and stretched. "I am afraid I must be going, LeBeau. Have some items on the agenda I simply must dispose of before the day ends." He reached into his pocket and handed LeBeau a calling card. "Here is my private phone line. It is monitored and answered twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. If you have any difficulties, do not hesitate to contact me. I will keep in touch as well. Please let me know what they find out about Newkirk."

LeBeau stood and accompanied Roberts to the door. "Merci beaucoup, Vice Marshal, that is, Robbie. We owe you much more than we can ever repay." He reached out to shake Roberts' hand.

"I am happy to help LeBeau. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you chaps. I am eternally in your debt." He stopped halfway out the door and turned back. "I'm serious. Do not hesitate to call me!"

LeBeau nodded gratefully and Roberts left. He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat back down, wondering how his English friend fared in the examination room.

Meanwhile, the object of his solicitude had been wondering the same thing. Suffocated, dizzy, and nauseated, he tried to move his hand to grasp his side. Why did it hurt so badly? What had happened? Was he floating? Suspended in mid-air? He felt a slight, rhythmic jerking motion like he was being carried somewhere against his will. Then he felt himself being lifted onto a harder surface. The motion increased the pain in his side well beyond his threshold of tolerance and he cried out as loudly as his limited breath allowed him to. His peripheral vision faded from grey to black as he desperately sought to get oxygen into his lungs.

The only thing he clearly remembered was his little mate's tear stained face. He also remembered hearing someone else sobbing piteously, a female. It had sounded like, like Mavis! What was wrong with her? What had they done to her? What was she doing in Germany? Was he still in Germany? Who were these people surrounding him? If Louis and Mavis were crying it must mean that Hochstetter had taken him away. He vaguely recalled being in a truck of some kind. He had to escape somehow!

Hollow metallic sounding voices floated out of the fog that enveloped him, voices that demanded he keep still, voices that demanded he calm down. He couldn't get the image of LeBeau out of his mind. Why was he so upset? He tried to remember...his French friend had told him not to give up...had told him that all his mates were there...no, was that right? That couldn't be right...could it? How could they be there if Mavis was there? Where _was_ he? There was a sharp sting in his arm and he suddenly felt heavy and sluggish. His mind wavered, then naturally went back, back to another time when he had seen his little French mate so grievously upset. He had felt the same way back then_. So...tired...please just…let...me...go...I'm...so...tired..._

"So...tired...Louis...please. Just...let...me...go..."

LeBeau had been drowsing at Newkirk's bedside in the infirmary but jumped awake at his friend's tortured whisper. He leaned down over the Englishman and spoke in a voice quavering with grief.

"Mon ami! Pierre!" LeBeau gently grasped Newkirk's face and brought his own close. "Pierre, écoutez-moi! You did not give in to that Gestapo bâtard Hochstetter. You protected us! You saved us! You stood firm mon ami! You did not give in at all during this lousy war! You stood by us Pierre! Stand by us now mon frère...it is almost over! Do not give in. Do not give in. If for no other reason, for my sake, please, do not give in..." The Frenchman's voice dissolved into sobs as he embraced his English friend. "Do not leave us now...mon frère...please do not leave us...Pierre, écoutez-moi...à cœur vaillant rien d'impossible!"

LeBeau's words echoed in his mind as he sank into the darkness.

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A/N LeBeau's last phrase translates as "_Nothing is impossible to a willing heart (literally: for a brave heart, nothing is impossible)!"_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter ****8 – The Winds of Adversity**

"He's seizing!" The procedure had so far been uneventful, thus the uncharacteristic note of unbridled panic in Wilson's voice made all of their hearts skip a beat. He immediately began bellowing orders. "Remember Dr. Hoffman's instructions! Try to keep him as still as possible! Louis, try to keep his airway unblocked! Andrew, Richard, keep him as steady as you can without bearing down too hard, remember his injuries!" He looked over at Hogan. "Colonel, keep a firm grip on his head!"

They all blinked back tears at the sight of their English friend jerking violently and uncontrollably as the seizure took over. LeBeau fought to keep his airway clear and nearly broke down when Newkirk's eyes rolled back into his head, showing nothing but the whites.

Frustrated, he shouted back at Wilson, "Joe is there not another way?"

Wilson didn't look up from his task. "No Louis. This is the only option we've got right now. He'll die otherwise."

LeBeau desperately looked over at Hogan, who frowned and shook his head tightly as he concentrated on keeping Newkirk's head immobile. _Mon Dieu! Will this nightmare never end?_ LeBeau leaned down and forced himself to speak calmly and encouragingly near Newkirk's ear until the seizure finally ended and the Englishman lapsed into unconsciousness.

Wilson looked up briefly. "We're nearly finished fellas. Keep him on his side until I give you the okay."

They continued to gently hold Newkirk as Wilson continued to work. The Colonel reached down and gently swabbed his English Corporal's face with a warm, damp cloth. LeBeau removed the gag he had been using to try to keep Newkirk from choking and then moved to grip the Englishman's shoulders to help keep him steady for Wilson. Frustrated beyond belief, LeBeau snapped at Wilson, "How much longer Joe?"

Wilson didn't answer him and kept working. After what seemed like an eternity to the four men, the medic finally finished and sat back.

"Okay fellas." Wilson sighed heavily as he mopped the sweat off his brow and then got up to grasp his patient's torso. "Let's ease him gently onto his back." They did so and then stepped back from the cot as Wilson began re-wrapping his patient with blankets. LeBeau could no longer hold back his emotions and ran to a far corner of the infirmary to break down in private.

He shifted slightly and jolted awake with a start, nearly falling out of the chair he was sitting on. He was dismayed to feel hot tears rolling down his cheeks as an insistent knocking clattered annoyingly within his brain. He quickly wiped his face and shook his head, trying to clear it. The knocking sound persisted and LeBeau finally woke up enough to remember where he was. He glanced over at the sofa as he got up to see who was at the door. Thankfully, Josephine and Mavis still slept.

He opened the door slowly and stuck his head out, "Oui? I beg your pardon, yes?"

The nurse who had earlier brought in the coffee stood before him. "I am sorry to disturb you but it is urgent that the doctor speak with Mrs. Newkirk."

"Oh yes, by all means. I will awaken her."

The nurse nodded, "I will be right back with the doctor."

LeBeau hurried over to the sofa, where he knelt down in front of Jo. He took her hand and gently massaged it. "Josephine? Josephine, wake up chérie. The doctor needs to speak with you." He hated to have to wake her from such a deep sleep but it simply could not be helped. "Josephine, there is news of Pierre. Come, wake up." LeBeau reached up and lightly tapped her cheek.

Jo bolted awake at his touch to her face. "Wha, what? Where…where..am I…?" She shook her head and stared uncomprehendingly at LeBeau for a few moments. She blinked a few times and brought her hand up to rub her eyes. "Oh Louis! What's wrong? Has something happened? Is Peter…?"

He cut her off. "No chérie, no. The doctor wishes to speak with you."

Jo quickly glanced to her right, where Mavis lay asleep. She whispered to LeBeau, "Please help me up, Louis. I don't want Mave to awaken."

LeBeau nodded and helped Jo to her feet. They quietly slid two chairs to the opposite side of the room and sat down there so as not to disturb Mavis. Jo repeatedly smoothed at her clothes with her palms, trying to get the wrinkles out. LeBeau put a gentle hand on her arm.

"Chérie, calm down. Do not upset yourself. We do not yet know what news the doctor brings."

"I know Louis. I just can't help it. I'm so worried."

"Oui, as am I. Colonel, I mean General, Hogan had a phrase he always used in the stalag. It is a very American saying, but it is true." LeBeau smiled. "I recall that he seemed to tell it to Pierre more so than the rest of us, as Pierre was such a worrier."

Jo chuckled despite herself. "Yes, that he is. I call him my worrywart."

LeBeau laughed softly. "Oui, that is why the General always told him 'Do not borrow trouble.'"

Jo nodded, "It's a good saying. I think I will keep it for myself."

As soon as she finished speaking, the door opened to admit the doctor. He was of medium build, with thinning, sandy blond hair and a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose. He had a pleasant smile on his face as he approached and held his hand out to Jo. "Mrs. Newkirk? My name is Doctor McFarland. I will be your husband's primary physician whilst he is here." He pulled up a chair and sat down next to Jo, then extended his hand to LeBeau. "And you are…?"

LeBeau took the doctor's hand and answered his query. "I am Louis LeBeau. Pierre…forgive me, Peter, is my very good friend. We served together in the war."

The doctor nodded. "I am very pleased to meet you Mr. LeBeau. I've just conferred with the emergency treatment physician and I have a few queries for Mrs. Newkirk regarding her husband's medical history. If you have any insights that will help us, please do not hesitate to tell me."

LeBeau nodded tersely. "Oui. What news do you have for us doctor?"

Doctor McFarland sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm afraid Mr. Newkirk's condition is extremely critical. We've bound up his broken ribs and started him on a regimen of antibiotics, as well as oxygen therapy. According to the x-rays, there is a large amount of scarring on his lungs from his previous bout of pneumonia. I need to know exactly how his current condition came about. How did it start? When and how quickly did it worsen? I also would like to have any other information about his first episode of pneumonia if at all possible." He snapped his fingers, as if he had forgotten something. "Oh yes, I must also tell you that we had to sedate him. Generally when a patient is having such difficulty breathing we don't like to use sedatives but Mr. Newkirk was highly agitated. He was trying his level best to get away from us."

LeBeau sucked in a pained breath at that comment. The doctor turned to him, "Do you have any idea why Mr. Newkirk would have been so upset?" The doctor leaned in slightly as he spoke again, "You said your given name was Louis?"

"Oui! It is…why…?"

"Mr. Newkirk kept calling your name, asking for your help. You say you served together?"

LeBeau nodded and dropped his gaze to the floor; he was distressed that his English friend had still been in such an agitated state of mind. He raised his head to look at the doctor directly. "We endured some…some very difficult times together during the war. His mind has gone back to those days."

"I see. Well, that is quite understandable, given his condition. He's having extreme difficulty getting sufficient oxygen into his system and it greatly affects the brain. We are greatly concerned about the progression of the cyanosis." McFarland turned back to Jo. "Now Mrs. Newkirk, please tell me everything you can."

LeBeau kept a comforting hand on Jo's shoulder as she told the doctor everything that had transpired with Peter's illness from seven years ago up to this point. The doctor was quite impressed with her description.

"You've certainly given me quite an accurate and precise account of Mr. Newkirk's condition. Do you by chance have a medical background?"

"Oh! I am sorry; I neglected to mention that I am a nurse by profession. I was also Peter's nurse during his first bout of pneumonia. I worked here at Millbank for several weeks back in the waning days of the war."

Doctor McFarland nodded. "Yes, we reviewed his file of seven years ago. The attending physician then noted that he did not initially respond to the penicillin therapy. He very nearly died."

Jo nodded as well. "It was a very stressful time for us all. Thankfully he somehow pulled through."

The doctor sighed and put a hand solicitously on Jo's. "We have come a long way with antibiotics in seven years. Hopefully he will respond quickly to the regimen we currently have him on. I do not mean to alarm you but I must tell you his current condition is extremely critical. If he does not begin to respond to the antibiotics within a week, I do not see him surviving."

Jo leaned forward and looked the doctor in the eyes. "Thank you for your frankness Doctor. May I ask you a question?"

"By all means, please do."

"Do you believe that the horrible air from this past week's fog was a contributing factor in the severity of Peter's illness?"

Doctor McFarland rubbed his jaw with his right hand as he gestured with his left. "Funny you should ask that. I just mentioned something very much in the same vein to a colleague of mine. He brushed me off, told me he thought I was daft." He looked down, brow furrowed in thought. "I would have to answer you truthfully with a definite yes. Given the weakened state of his lungs and general susceptibility to breathing difficulties due to his previous experience with pneumonia, I would say your husband's present critical condition is in great part due to the recent fog."

He continued, "I have a friend who is a physician in one of the local boroughs here in London, Doctor Roberts. He is a G.P. and has been seeing mainly end-stage bronchitics and asthmatics in his practice. He told me that many of them were in very serious trouble after only four or five hours exposure to this latest fog. Generally edema and cardiac failure is observed at least two to three days _after_ the arrival of a heavy fog."

There was a momentary silence as they both digested the doctor's words. The significance of the preliminary prognosis finally hit Jo and she began sniffling, trying to hold back her emotions.

Doctor McFarland left his seat to kneel in front of her. He took her hands in his. "Mrs. Newkirk, I know this is a very difficult and trying time for you. Please be assured that we are doing everything possible for your husband."

"Th-thank you Doctor. You don't know how much that means to me. It's just that...I know firsthand what he went through seven years ago. It is so very distressing to see him going through such suffering all over again when it could possibly have been prevented."

"I can but only imagine what you are feeling and am in complete sympathy with you. I must tell you that Doctor Roberts and I intend to pursue this matter with the Ministry of Health. We are in the midst of assembling case histories and statistics to bolster our case. All the information will be submitted as anonymously as possible. May I have your permission to use your husband's data to support our contention that something must be done to ensure that the air be cleaned up?"

Jo looked over at LeBeau. "What do you think Louis?"

LeBeau didn't hesitate. "If it would help Pierre in future as well as many others, is there really a choice?"

"You're right Louis." She turned back to Doctor McFarland. "You have my permission to use Peter's data in your research."

"Thank you Mrs. Newkirk. We are in your debt." McFarland got up and moved towards the door. He turned around as Jo called after him.

"Doctor, when may I see Peter?"

"He is currently in intensive care. We are still trying to stabilize him and do not yet feel he is ready for visitors."

Jo dropped her head as a small sob escaped, and McFarland came back to her side to put a hand on her shoulder. "I will see what I can do. I know how anxious you are to visit him."

"Thank you Doctor."

LeBeau arose and accompanied the doctor to the door, thankful that Peter's primary physician appeared to be compassionate and caring. "Yes thank you Doctor."

McFarland extended his arm to gesture down the hall. "If you need anything, please get one of the nurses to fetch me."

LeBeau nodded and stepped back inside the room. Jo looked up at him pensively as he sat back down. He reached over and took her hand for a moment.

"Louis...what am I going to tell the boys? How can I tell them that...their...Da might not..." her voice broke and she dropped her head into her hands.

LeBeau moved to sit beside Jo and drew her close with an arm around her shoulders. "Chérie, chérie, please do not do this to yourself! You will know what to do if, and I do say if, that time comes. Do not give up hope. Pierre still lives. Believe me when I say that he has not given up."

Jo looked up and whispered, "There are some things that even the strongest, bravest heart cannot overcome Louis."

LeBeau sighed. "Josephine, I _know_ Pierre. If you had only seen what we endured during the war..."

"He's told me nothing Louis. Absolutely nothing. I only want to help him!"

"I know Josephine. And Pierre knows that as well. He does not wish to burden you chérie. Trust me, he will tell you when the time is right." There was no reason to tell Jo that her husband could more than likely never tell her what he endured during the war and especially more so during his incarceration in Stalag 13. The activities of Papa Bear and his cubs were strictly confidential and highly classified, even seven years after the end of the war. The tone of this conversation was nothing new to the Frenchman, as Jo reminded him so much of his Danielle. She too had yearned to help her husband through his own struggle with the memories of the war.

Jo must have read his mind because she blurted out, "Have you told Danielle anything about your part in the war Louis?"

He faced her and simply said, "No chérie, I have not. It is not her concern."

"Is that how Peter feels about me?" Jo's voice cracked a bit despite her best efforts to keep calm.

Now he had to dig himself out of the deep hole he had inadvertently fallen into. "Josephine, I cannot speak for Pierre. I only know that the women we love, the women who have taken the two of us to their hearts so willingly, the women we would most gladly give our lives for, do not deserve the worry and pain that that knowledge would bring to them. Pierre and I have borne the burden of that knowledge from then until now. Please allow us to continue to do so."

Jo lowered her head and worriedly chewed on her lip. She understood what LeBeau had just said to her with her mind. Her heart, on the other hand, was having a little difficulty with it. She nodded. "I suppose that's not too much to ask Louis. It does make my heart ache that you two feel that you must protect us at such a cost to yourselves."

"We are used to such chérie. It is our job, no?"

"No", she mouthed without a sound. At that moment, a soft knock sounded and Dr. McFarland came into the room.

"Mrs. Newkirk, I've arranged for you to see your husband for a few minutes if you will come with me right now."

Jo jumped up, caught unawares. "Oh, oh yes...!" She looked over at LeBeau. "Louis?"

He glanced over at Mavis. "I will stay here with Mavis. Go Josephine. Go to Pierre."

Jo gave LeBeau a quick hug and followed McFarland out the door.

_Author's Note: __Dr. Geoffrey Roberts is a historical reality. He was a GP in a London borough during the Big Smoke. See "Killer Smog: The World's Worst Air Pollution Disaster" pages 102-103. _


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 – Interlude (Memories)**

Jo tried to mentally prepare herself as she followed Doctor McFarland to the intensive care ward. As a nurse, she knew the drill well. Scrub up and mask, especially more so here in the critical care area. The memories came flooding back; it was so very much the same as seven years previous, when she had first met Mavis and Peter. She paused for a moment to blink back tears, and McFarland gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he ushered her to Peter's bedside.

Jo's experience in medicine provided no comfort as she faced the sight of her husband lying unconscious in intensive care. It had been so much different seven years previously; she had not been so emotionally invested then, at least not at first. Back then, he was just another patient. Now, he was her whole world. He was her husband, her lover, her friend and confidant, the father of their beautiful boys. This current crisis was the first genuinely difficult challenge she and Peter had had to face as man and wife. Oh yes, there had been a bit of anxiety about money, but they both accepted the fact that the specter of poverty would more than likely haunt them for the rest of their lives. They could deal with that. After all, life doesn't depend exclusively on material possessions. They got by. There was a roof over their heads, clothes for their bodies and food on the table. Their children were healthy. They were together. They loved each other. They were happy. What more could one ask?

Actually, there _was_ one other thing to be asked. She bowed her head and silently begged God for her husband's health to be restored. She exhaled shakily in a half sigh, half sob as she approached Peter. It was almost as if she saw him with completely different eyes now that he was here in hospital. When did he become so ashen? When did he become so frail? When did his eyes sink so deep into his face? Every breath he took sounded like a harsh, rasping groan of pain. Jo collapsed onto the chair beside the bed.

"Oh Peter!" she murmured. Her eyes filled with tears and she looked away, trying to compose herself. She stared at the tube that snaked up from his arm to the bags of saline and nutrients hanging from a rack attached to the bedframe. McFarland quietly approached and lifted the oxygen tent up and away so he could take his patient's vital signs. Jo winced at the bruising visible beneath the edge of the bandage that was wrapped securely around Peter's chest. The doctor completed his tasks and replaced the oxygen tent before he updated his patient's chart. He then filled a syringe and injected it into Peter's hip.

"His next round of antibiotics." McFarland explained before he stepped back and gave Jo a soft pat on the shoulder. "I'll leave you alone with him for a few minutes. I will be right outside at the nurse's station should you need me."

Jo nodded and managed a smile as the doctor left. She turned back to gaze sadly at her husband and then reached inside the oxygen tent to take his disturbingly cold hand in hers.

"Oh darling, I'm so sorry you're suffering through this again. I wish there was something I could do to spare you this pain." Jo bowed her head. _Oh Peter, do you remember the last time we thought we were in real trouble? That was a right knees-up compared to now, wasn't it?_ She closed her eyes, remembering that chaotic and uncertain, yet at the same time, breathtaking and blissful portion of their lives.

The times had indeed been very lean, especially a year or so after the war ended. She and Peter had married in March of 1946, spending their honeymoon in Paris at Louis' invitation. By mid-August 1946, she found herself three months along in expecting their first child. She had to admit to herself that the prospect of a baby absolutely terrified her at first. They were as poor as the proverbial churchmice, having laid no money aside for emergencies. Extra money simply did not exist. Peter's health was still rather precarious. And now that she was pregnant, she worried that she would lose her situation at the hospital.

She had rehearsed how she intended to reveal the news to Peter over and over in her mind. She hoped he wouldn't be too disappointed. They had neglected to sit down and seriously discuss anything about starting a family, and here the decision was now arbitrarily made for them.

She smiled as she recalled what had happened. When she finally worked up the courage to tell Peter her news, his reaction took her breath away. His eyes widened to the point of almost being comical and then immediately filled with tears. He whispered to himself, "Blimey! I'm...I'm going to be a father? Me? Blimey!" He swept Jo up into his arms and carefully carried her to their bedroom, where he gently deposited her on the bed.

"You need to rest darlin'! I don't want anythin' to 'appen to you or our baby!" He sat on the bed beside her and leaned over to kiss her tenderly. He then nudged her shoulders, trying to get her to lie down.

"Peter!" she protested. "I'm not an invalid!" She removed his hands from her shoulders and gave him a stern mock frown.

Peter held his hands palms out towards her in a gesture of supplication. "No one said you were darlin'. But you're expectin' our child! Somethin' I never even thought in me wildest dreams would ever 'appen to me!" He hugged her gingerly, then rested his head on her shoulder.

Jo heard a barely discernable sniffling sound and she reached to tilt his head up so she could look into his eyes. "Peter? Are you all right love?"

He nodded a bit shamefacedly and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "All right? I'm more than a bit of all right darlin'. I-I'm the luckiest bloke in the world!" His grin suddenly vanished. "Wish mum would've been 'ere for this. She'da been over the moon to be a gran." He thought a further moment, his expression darkening as he dropped his face into his hands. "Oh cor! Who am I kiddin'? I don't know the first thing about bein' a good father. Look at me own Da...", he trailed off as he realized where his thoughts were taking him.

Jo reached over to gently caress his hair, as it was obvious that his emotions were running riot. She drew his head back against her shoulder and held him tight. "You just quiet that kind of talk mister! You are going to be the best father ever! I _know_ you will!"

A heavy shuddering sigh was her only answer, followed by a faint whisper, "Oh Jo darlin', if you only knew..."

"Shush darling, shush." She struggled for something to lift him out of this sudden funk. "Peter, why don't you go call Mave and tell her she's going to be an aunt! She'll be thrilled!"

Peter perked right up at that suggestion. "Yer right darlin'. Ol' Mave'll be tickled pink!" He jumped off the bed and then stopped short. "Sorry darlin'!" He leaned in to give her a quick peck on the lips and then headed out to call his sister with the good news.

He had returned immensely cheered after speaking with Mavis. He took Jo into his arms and sat her down on the sofa beside him. "I've come to a decision Jo. You'll not be standin' in the queues in your condition and that's final!"

"Oh really?" she cast a smirk in his direction. "And who, pray tell, is going to be fetching in our groceries?"

Peter put on an offended expression and gestured grandly, his hand on his chest. "Why, yours truly, who else?"

Jo shook her head. "Oh no, you're still not quite up to..." she stopped short as Peter gently placed his hand over her mouth before she finished speaking.

"I'm still the 'ead of this 'ouse aren't I?" She remained silent and he repeated, "Well, aren't I?"

Jo laughed and kissed his hand before removing it from her mouth. "Yes you are and I love it. And you." She leaned in to kiss him passionately on the lips.

"This is 'ow we got into this situation, innit?" Peter murmured as they fell into each others' arms.

Jo was startled out of her reverie when Doctor McFarland put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry Mrs. Newkirk, I must ask that you leave now." He stepped back to allow her a further bit of privacy.

She sighed and massaged Peter's hand before she reluctantly released it, tucking it back at his side within the oxygen tent. She whispered softly, "I was right, wasn't I darling? You're a wonderful father to our boys. I'm so very thankful that you are teaching them what it means to be a man. Please get well soon my love. We miss you so."

Jo slowly rose and McFarland took her arm as he accompanied her to the door.

_A/N The reference to 'standing in the queues' refers to the post-war austerity program from 1945 to 1951._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter ****10 – Realization**

After Jo left with the doctor, LeBeau got up and poured himself another cup of coffee. He grimaced as he took a sip, as the coffee was by now merely tepid. He smiled a bit, remembering how grateful they had been to get even a cold cup of ersatz coffee back during their time in the stalag. He recalled how both Newkirk and the Colonel were never seen without their mugs of coffee during the many long nights they had spent waiting and watching, taking comfort from each other and the mugs they clasped in their hands. _Ah Pierre! How I want to sit with you again, simply drinking coffee and talking._ _Please recover your health soon mon_ _frère...I miss you._

He quietly moved back to his seat, mindful of Mavis still asleep on the sofa. As thankful as he was to have survived the war, he vowed to never become complacent and take life for granted. He took seriously the lesson the war had taught him; namely, that life could drastically change either for the better or the worse in the blink of an eye. Or even further, that life could also unexpectedly come to an abrupt end in the blink of an eye.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. Movement from the sofa caught his peripheral vision and he quickly rose to check on Mavis. She sat up and looked at him blearily as he approached. "Louis? Where's...where's Jo?" She straightened suddenly and swung her legs down to the floor. "Peter! 'e's not...?" She couldn't bring herself to finish.

"No, chérie, no. Josephine has gone to see Pierre. The doctor allowed her to visit him for a short time." LeBeau sat next to Mavis and took her hand as he spoke soothingly to her.

Mavis shuddered in a sigh and lowered her head. "Oh thank God! 'e's still fightin' then. Thank God!"

"Oui chérie. I agree." LeBeau gestured to the table and then got up. "Let me get you some fresh tea. I will be but one moment."

Mavis nodded. "A spot o' tea would be marvelous Louis. Ta." She kept her head down, trying to hold back the tears that sprang fresh to her eyes.

LeBeau nodded in reply and stepped out the door. True to his word, he returned in just a minute. "The nurse will bring a fresh pot of tea as well as more coffee…oh chérie!" He noticed Mavis' distress and sat down to wrap a reassuring arm around her shoulders. "Chérie please do not cry. Pierre is as you say, still fighting. He is a strong one, your brother. I know, I have seen it."

"I...I know 'e is. I know 'e is Louis. I...just can't...'elp it." Mavis took the handkerchief LeBeau offered and quickly pulled herself together. "It's so...sad. Why can't 'e have a little 'appiness? It's like...like someone don't think 'e deserves a bit of good fortune. Somethin' always 'appens to make it 'ard for 'im."

LeBeau fully understood Mavis' words, colored as they were by her extreme distress at her brother's plight. He needed to make her understand one thing though. "Chérie, listen to me. You do realize that Pierre is a different person than he was before the war, no?"

Mavis nodded as LeBeau continued.

"When I first met Pierre he was not the man he is today. I did not trust him as far as I could throw him, if such a thing were even possible!"

Mavis smiled at that. "Yes 'e was a bit of a tough back then. It was from bein' tossed out onto the streets Louis! 'e 'ad to learn 'ow to survive some'ow!" She shook her head. "Of course it weren't the best or shall I say, the legal way most o' the time, I'm sure. 'e tried 'is best to provide for me the proper way but when 'e couldn't...well, 'e didn't let me know 'ow 'e got on most o' the time."

"It was probably for the best chérie." LeBeau took a deep breath. "Mavis, you must not feel sorry for Pierre. The time he spent as a prisoner most likely saved his life. When Colonel, I mean, General Hogan came to the camp, Pierre began to change. He became a different person, because the General expected it of him, as he did of all of us. Pierre has enormous respect for the General and it made him want to be a better man. It was not easy for him chérie, believe me. But he did it." He leaned in a bit closer to emphasize his words. "I trusted Pierre with my life then, as did André, Richard, Joe and the General. I still do. And look what he has accomplished since the end of the war. He has a wife who loves him dearly and two beautiful sons. No Mavis, do not pity mon ami. He has done what very few have. And he has much to live for. He will survive chérie! Trust me, he will survive!"

Mavis looked at LeBeau in amazement. "Yer so sure Louis! I wish I 'ad yer confidence."

LeBeau tightened his arm around Mavis' shoulders. "You will chérie. Wait and see. You will."

"I 'ope so Louis." She blew her nose and tried to tidy herself up. "You are right about Peter though. 'e did come back from the war quite different than 'e was before." She stared unseeingly at the opposite wall as she remembered when she had first noticed the difference in her brother. It was during a visit she had paid him as he was well along in the slow but successful recuperation from his first bout with pneumonia seven years earlier.

Her joy barely contained, Mavis entered Peter's room as quietly as possible. He was asleep; she really didn't want to wake him, but felt that she would burst otherwise. She reached over and gently shook his shoulder. "Peter? Peter! Wake up brother!" No response. She tried again. "Peter! Wake up! I've got news for ya!"

Peter groaned and turned onto his back. It took him a few minutes to get his eyes open. "M-Mave?"

Mavis nodded excitedly. "Clear yer 'ead Peter. I've got some news!"

Peter sat up and slowly shook his head. "What? What is it?"

"Listen Peter….it's 'itler! 'e's dead!"

Peter's eyes widened and he stared at his sister incomprehensibly. Had he heard her right? He cocked his head to the side and continued to stare at her in shocked silence.

Mavis took his hand and rubbed it briskly. "Didn't ya 'ear me Peter? 'e's dead! 'itler's dead! It's all over!"

Peter turned his head away and stared blankly out the window for several minutes. "I shoulda been wi' me mates," he whispered. "I shoulda been wi' me mates." He bowed his head, suddenly seized by deep emotion. Mavis, a bit puzzled by his reaction, leaned down and wrapped her arms around him. He repeatedly whispered "I shoulda been wi' me mates".

Mavis kissed him on the cheek and tasted salt on her lips. He raised his head and she was dismayed to see tears trailing down his face. She gently patted his back. "Don't concern yourself brother. You couldn't 'elp it ya got sick. Yer gettin' better Peter! Be thankful for that! You nearly died you know."

His brow wrinkled in a frown. "I…I…what? Was I really that bad off?" The Colonel's parting words rang in his mind. _We can't risk losing you. This is the only way you're going to survive. Please don't fight me on this._

Mavis nodded sadly and choked back her own tears at the memory of what her brother had just endured. "Oh Peter, I was so scared. I didn't know what I was gonna do without ya!"

Peter blinked and suddenly reached out to his sister. "Oh Mave! I'm so sorry for puttin' you through this! For puttin' everyone through this…"

Mavis hugged him tight and whispered, "Peter ya dozy twerp! Like it was your fault!"

"It _was_ my fault Mave. All my fault." He shuddered as he spoke.

Mavis drew back and frowned, confused by his comment. "Peter, it wasn't yer fault ya got sick!"

He nodded slowly. "Yes it was Mave. It was. But I 'ave no regrets. Me mates are safe. That's the only important thing. I'd do it all over again if I 'ad to."

Even though she had no idea what Peter was talking about, she saw that he was dead serious. She suddenly noticed that her brother was markedly different; he seemed to be more confident, more serious, more mature than he was before the war.

She shook her head as the memory faded, and then turned to look at LeBeau with a new perspective. "Thank you Louis, for 'elpin' Peter become the man 'e is today."

"Me chérie?" he was genuinely puzzled. "It was General Hogan, not me."

Mavis nodded. "Yes it was you. It was all of you. I realized a long time ago that 'e loves you all like the brothers 'e never 'ad. I'll always be grateful for what you've done for 'im."

"He took the initiative to change, Mavis. We all helped each other in one way or another. That was how we survived." A soft knock sounded at the door. "That must be the nurse with the tea." He got up to answer it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jo followed Doctor McFarland out the door and then paused. "Doctor? May I ask you a very pointed question?"

McFarland turned back to face her. "Of course Mrs. Newkirk."

"What is your honest opinion of Peter's condition? What is his chance of survival? Please, I must know exactly what you think."

McFarland sighed and looked down before he took Jo's hands in his own. "I am not usually so brutally honest with a patient's family. You as a nurse must know what I mean by that. I try to look on the bright side if at all possible. However, I must tell you that I will be very surprised if your husband lasts the week. I can't tell you how sorry I am. The effects of the filthy air coupled with the inherent weakness of his respiratory system due to the previous pneumonia may well have sealed his fate."

Jo lowered her head as McFarland continued, "However, I also must say that I've never seen a patient with his type of personality. I daresay your husband will not leave willingly nor easily. From what they told me occurred in the A&E, he appears to be quite the fighter. That may make all the difference, so do not give up hope just yet. Prepare for the worst and hope for the best, I always say!"

"Thank you Doctor. I needed to know exactly where we stand." McFarland released Jo's hands and they walked back down the hall towards their waiting room. "And you are correct about my Peter; he will not go gentle into that good night."

"I am glad to hear that and I will keep that uppermost in my mind Mrs. Newkirk." They arrived at their destination and McFarland opened the door for Jo to enter the room.

Jo saw that Mavis was awake, and she asked the doctor to come in and inform both Mavis and Louis of his opinion on Peter's condition. Jo poured fresh cups of tea for them all and then took Mavis' hands in her own as McFarland repeated what he had told her. She felt Mavis shudder at the news and saw Louis wiping his eyes. McFarland ended with "I am so very sorry. I sincerely hope and pray that I am wrong for your sakes."

"Merci doctor. We do not need false hope, we need to know the truth."

McFarland shook his head. "Well it is the truth as I see it right now Mr. LeBeau. However, things could change. I would not give up hope if I were you."

It was LeBeau's turn to shake his head. "No! I will not give up hope. I know Pierre. He will not give up and neither will I."

McFarland extended his hand to LeBeau. "I am happy to see that my patient has the support he needs. I may have to revise my prognosis." He rose and headed to the door. "I shall keep you apprised."

"Thank you doctor!" Jo called as he walked out. She turned back to Mavis. "Mave, we need to make the most of our time. I don't know how long we shall be here. Would you mind heading back to the flat and picking up a few items for me?"

"I wouldn't mind at all Jo. What do you need?"

"Let me make you a list..."

As the two women talked, LeBeau scrounged through his pockets and finally found Air Marshal Roberts' card. He stood up and headed to the door. "Mavis, Jo, please excuse me for a little while. I need some fresh air."

"Oh yes Louis, I understand completely. Mave and I will be fine."

He nodded and quickly left the room, in search of a phone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter ****11 –The Dying of the Light**

LeBeau returned shortly after speaking with Vice Marshal Roberts, who had promised to come to the hospital later that morning. When LeBeau found out that Mavis was going back to Jo and Peter's flat, he volunteered to accompany her on her errand. He first extracted agreement from Jo that she would get some more rest whilst they were gone.

Jo saw them both to the door, where LeBeau shook his head at her offer of a few quid for cab fare and took her firmly by the shoulders to guide her back to the sofa. She finally acquiesced and they left. She poured herself a fresh cuppa before she leaned back and unsuccessfully tried to quiet her roiling thoughts. She finished her tea and drew her legs up and closed her eyes, trying to relax enough to fall asleep. But she found she simply could not sleep; the image of her husband lying helpless in his bed and in such extreme distress branded her memory.

Despite her brave words to McFarland, she found herself suddenly overcome by an immense, crippling wave of sorrow. Her eyes popped open and she gasped in physical pain as she clearly realized what she needed to do. She sat up and took several deep breaths to try to calm herself. She needed to begin planning, planning for the worst. She buried her face in her hands as the sobs overwhelmed her.

When Mavis and LeBeau returned they were relieved to find Jo curled up on the sofa, asleep. Stress, anxiety and exhaustion had finally taken its' toll on her. LeBeau gestured to Mavis with a finger to his lips. They both quietly set down the duffle bags and parcels they had brought from the flat before moving to sit on the far side of the room.

Mavis sighed noiselessly, "I'm glad she's finally gettin' some rest."

"Yes," nodded LeBeau. "Poor chérie. She does not deserve this trial."

"No, she doesn't. I'm so glad Peter's got a good woman like Jo to love 'im."

LeBeau looked at Mavis affectionately. "He has a good sister who loves him as well, no? Mon ami is very fortunate."

Mavis gave him a wan smile in return. "Thanks Louis. We only 'ad each other when we were growin' up. I don't know what I'd do without 'im."

"You will not have to face that Mavis. Pierre will overcome this. I know he will!"

"I pray yer right Louis. I pray yer right."

They sat quietly for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. A soft knock sounded at the door, and LeBeau jumped up quickly to answer it. "Excuse me a moment chérie."

Vice Marshal Roberts stood before him. LeBeau stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. "Robbie! I am very happy to see you."

"I did say I would come round to visit by mid-morning, didn't I old man?" Roberts answered with a bemused smile.

"Oui you did. I nearly forgot. We have been very distracted this morning."

Roberts nodded. "To say the least. How is Newkirk faring? Is he any better?"

LeBeau shook his head sadly. "No. There has been no improvement. The doctors have not yet been able to stabilize him to their satisfaction."

"I am genuinely sorry to hear that Louis." He draped an arm around LeBeau's shoulders and guided him along beside him. "Why don't we take a walk? Give you a chance to clear your head a bit."

LeBeau sighed as he began to walk beside Roberts. "Perhaps you are right."

LeBeau and Roberts walked the hallways with no clear destination in mind. Roberts' intention had been simply to give LeBeau a chance to gain a bit of distance from Newkirk's crisis, if only for a brief few minutes.

They were headed back to the waiting room when Doctor McFarland approached and attached himself to them. LeBeau introduced Roberts to McFarland and got the distinct feeling that they already were acquainted. LeBeau worried over the reason for the doctor's presence.

"Has there been a change with Pierre?"

McFarland nodded slowly. "I am afraid so Mr. LeBeau." They came to a stop before the door to the waiting room. "Are the ladies indisposed? Should I come back later?"

"No!" LeBeau shook his head. "Josephine will want to see you. One moment gentlemen." He slipped into the room alone. Mavis was still sitting quietly on the other side of the room. She stood as she saw LeBeau's expression.

"Louis? Is somethin' wrong?"

"I do not know, chérie. Doctor McFarland wishes to speak to us. Would you mind awakening Josephine? Please tell her that Vice Marshal Roberts is here as well." He moved to step back out into the hallway to give Mavis and Jo a bit of privacy. "I will wait outside until you and Josephine tell me you are ready."

Mavis nodded and moved over to the sofa to rouse Jo. "Jo! Wake up! The doctor needs to speak with you." She grasped Jo's shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. "C'mon dear! Wake up!"

Jo finally opened her eyes. "M-Mave?"

"Sorry to haveta wake you Jo but the doctor needs to come in and talk to you. Oh and Louis said to tell you that Vice Marshal Roberts is also here."

_Oh no! __The doctor must have news of Peter!_ Jo quickly pulled herself together and nodded to Mavis to let the men into the room.

Mavis opened the door, "C'mon in Louis."

LeBeau, Roberts and McFarland entered the room. McFarland sat on the sofa next to Jo and began speaking, "I came to tell you that we have stabilized Mr. Newkirk's condition as much as possible. However, he continues to deteriorate. For some unknown reason, he is not yet responding to the antibiotic protocol. We have not seen even a marginal level of improvement. He is slowly but definitely worsening." McFarland took Jo's hands in his own as he mulled over how he would deliver the most devastating part of his news.

"I am very sorry to say he appears to be slipping away even sooner than we thought. I believed he had at least a week, but now...if he lapses into coma..." McFarland sighed and lowered his head. Jo well knew what that meant - imminent death.

Mavis began sobbing and Roberts gently took her arm to escort her to a seat on the sofa beside Jo. He knelt down and handed her a handkerchief.

Jo felt strangely detached and simply stared at the wall opposite. She nodded distractedly. "Thank…thank you doctor."

McFarland looked at her, genuinely concerned at her demeanor. "We are doing all we can for him Mrs. Newkirk. We are not giving up."

Jo finally met his eyes with her own. "I know. Thank you." The doctor released her hands and rose. He suddenly knelt back down and put a hand on her shoulder. He whispered, "Would you like a sedative?"

Jo shook her head and whispered back, "No. No thank you. I'll be fine. I-I-I'll…be…be…" She couldn't finish as she completely dissolved into great, heaving sobs. LeBeau swiftly moved to her side and took her into his arms.

"Cry chérie, cry. Cry as long as you need to." He gently stroked her hair as she buried her face into his shoulder.

McFarland rose and spoke to them all. "I cannot tell you how sorry I am."

Roberts stood up and reached to shake McFarland's hand. "Thank you doctor. Please keep us informed."

"Yes, of course I will," McFarland nodded and left. Roberts sat down beside Mavis and put a supportive hand on her shoulder.

LeBeau and Roberts remained, trying to comfort the distraught women until they each cried themselves into exhaustion. They gently settled Jo and Mavis onto the sofa and covered them with blankets. The two men then stepped out into the hallway.

"I know this has to be absolutely shattering for you Louis." Roberts put his arm around LeBeau's shoulder. "I cannot tell you how sorry I am for you all."

LeBeau nodded despondently. "Oui. It is heartbreaking to see Josephine and Mavis so upset. I pray they will not lose themselves to their grief. It is easy to do so when faced with such tragedy."

Roberts nodded. "I was going to ask to see Newkirk but given his condition I believe I will wait." He removed his arm from LeBeau's shoulders and patted him encouragingly on the back. "If you will excuse me, I must return to my office. There is a very urgent call I simply must make. I will contact you and let you know when I will return." He looked LeBeau straight in the eyes. "Keep your chin up old man. Don't give up hope. Those ladies in there need you to be strong for them."

"Oui, you are right." LeBeau reached out to shake Roberts' hand. "I must not waver, no matter how difficult it seems to be right now. Pierre would not want me to do so."

Roberts turned to leave and spoke over his shoulder. "You will hear from me shortly Louis."

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The next morning, LeBeau and Mavis made another trip to Peter and Jo's flat. They brought everything they needed in order to maintain their vigil as Peter fought the seemingly losing battle for his life.

Mavis tried to convince her sister-in-law to come back to the flat for a short while to get some quiet and rest, but Jo categorically refused.

"Mave...I...I...just can't. How could I possibly sleep in our bed, knowing Peter is here alone fighting for his life?"

"'e won't be alone Jo! Louis and I will be 'ere for 'im!"

Jo reached out and grasped Mavis' arm. "I'm sorry Mave. You're right. It's just that I can't leave him right now. What if he...what if he..." She swallowed hard and made herself say the words. "What…if he...died...whilst I was gone? I'd...I'd never forgive myself."

Mavis sighed and hugged Jo. She knew what it cost her to speak those words. "I know, dear. I know." She released Jo and held her at arm's length. "Yer right Jo. You need to be 'ere in case Peter..." Mavis found that she, on the other hand, simply couldn't say those words.

Jo sadly nodded her understanding and headed for the door. Mavis called after her, "Where're ya goin' Jo?"

"I need to call my mum and dad, Mave. I need to…to…bring Robbie in to…say…good-bye…to his father." She dropped her face into her hands for a moment and then straightened, refusing to fall apart. _I must get used to this pain. For the sake of our boys, I must!_ Mavis had started to approach her and she waved her off. "Please Mave, don't. I have to do this. I'll…I'll be fine."

Mavis ignored Jo's comment and caught up to her before she left. "Jo, you just said you don't want to leave Peter. Let me go and bring young Robbie to you."

Jo leaned her head against the edge of the door and closed her eyes. "Are you sure Mave?" Mavis nodded emphatically.

Jo gave her a quick hug before she slipped out the door. She sought out the nurse who had been assisting them since they arrived and soon found herself in an empty private office with a telephone.

She sat down slowly and paused to take a deep breath before she lifted the receiver and dialed her parents' number. The phone rang only once before someone picked up.

"Hello?"

"Mum?"

"Oh Jo! I'm so glad to hear from you. We've been so worried."

She couldn't help herself, her facade of self-control crumbled at the loving concern in her mum's voice.

"Oh mum…." Her voice broke and trailed off into a muffled sob.

"What's wrong Jo?"

"He…he's…"

"No Jo! It can't be…"

She managed to get the horrible news out all at once. "Peter's not doing at all well mum. The doctors think he won't pull through this time."

"Oh my darling girl…!"

"I'm sending Mave over to come get Robbie so he can say goodbye to his Da while there's still time."

"Oh Jo….do you think that's..." Her mum paused and seemed to reconsider what she had been about to say. "You do whatever you think best dear. Why don't your father and I bring both the boys to you in hospital? It's been nearly a week since you've seen them."

"I know mum. It just couldn't be helped." She still felt guilty about the boys.

"I realize that dear. Let us do this for you. If things are as grim as you say, we need to be there as well. We also need to say our goodbyes to your darling Peter."

"I know mum, but…Andrew is too young. I don't think it would be good to have him at hospital right now. I'd just like for Robbie to come now if you could get him ready…" she trailed off, increasingly distraught at the words that were coming out of her mouth. "I'll call you when the…when the…time draws nearer…"

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. "Jo, I realize that this is dreadfully difficult. Send Mavis over as soon as you can, dear. I'll have Robbie dressed and ready. Jo, please try to stay strong, for both your husband and your boys. Give all our love to Peter."

"I, I will, mum..."

"Jo?"

"Y-yes mum?"

"Remember, you are wrapped in my arms with a thousand kisses."

Jo just had to smile at the childhood remembrance. Her mum would tuck her in bed each night with that phrase. She had kept the tradition alive with the boys, tucking them in each night with that exact same phrase.

"Yes mum. I love you and dad too."

"Whatever happens my darling girl, we shall get through it together."

Jo rang off and laid her head down on the cool surface of the desktop for just a minute, seeking to regain some measure of composure. She needed to gather all her wits about her, for she needed to be strong, as strong as she could possibly be, for the sake of her sons. She took a deep breath and got up to send Mavis on yet another errand for her.

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A pair of puzzled, five year old eyes watched her warily. "Mum? Why are you crying mum?"

Jo tried to stop her sobs but wasn't able to. She pulled Robbie up and sat him on her lap, gazing into his green eyes as she again tried to collect herself. _He certainly has his dad's beautiful eyes_, she mused. She finally calmed down enough to speak to her eldest son.

"Robbie, do you remember what we told you when you and Andrew went to your gran's?"

Robbie shook his head.

"Your Da got sick, remember? And he didn't want you or your brother to get sick because of him so we asked your gran and granddad to take care of you."

Robbie, an increasingly confused expression on his face, stared into Jo's eyes as she continued.

"Your Da hasn't gotten any better Robbie. He's gotten much worse. That's why we're here in the hospital. Your Da is trying his best to get better dear, but I have to tell you that it may be that he might not get better."

"If he'll take a nap he'll get better! That's what Da tells me when I don't feel good!"

Jo felt her heart ache at those innocently optimistic words. She nodded slowly, barely keeping her voice from breaking. "You're right dear. Sometimes a nap makes us feel better if we're not real sick. But your Da is very, very sick Robbie." She took her son's hands in hers and looked him straight in his face. "Robbie, sometimes daddies get so very sick, they _can't_ get better. And because they're so sick, they become very tired. Sometimes they...they...fall asleep and…and…they…never wake up." She swallowed the sob that rose into her throat.

Robbie had never in his short life seen his mum so upset. He put a hand on each side of her face and drew her closer. He whispered, "Mum is Da tired?"

Jo looked her firstborn in his puzzled eyes and nodded. "I'm afraid so darling. He's very, very tired."

The sadness radiating from his mum's eyes frightened Robbie. "But mum! Da would never leave us!"

"Oh no my darling boy! He would never leave us willingly! No, no, no! Your Da loves all of us more than….more than…life itself." She took Robbie in her arms and hugged him impossibly tight. She'd made a proper mess of this hadn't she? How do you explain death to a youngster? How could she possibly explain to this child that after tonight, he might not ever see his beloved Da again?

The door opened and LeBeau began to enter; he stopped as he realized what he was interrupting. "Pardonnez-moi! I did not know…"

Jo didn't release Robbie or even turn around as she spoke. "No Louis, it's all right. Please come in."

LeBeau quietly closed the door and approached mother and son. Robbie looked up in surprise. "Uncle Louis!"

"Hello Robert."

Robbie shook his head. "No, Uncle Louis, not 'Ro-Bare'! It's Robbie! Remember what Da told you?"

"Ah oui, I forgot. Please forgive me mon petit." It was a running joke between Newkirk and his French mate. He allowed Louis to call him Pierre only on the condition that Louis always referred to the boys by their names with no French pronunciations. LeBeau knelt in front of Jo and extended his arms. "Come Robbie!"

Robbie squirmed out of his mother's arms and jumped enthusiastically into LeBeau's embrace. Jo dropped her head back into her hands, unsuccessfully trying to hold in her sobs. Robbie turned to look back at his mum, cocking his head in bewilderment. The familiarity of the gesture made LeBeau's heart ache.

"Uncle Louis why is mum crying so?"

"She is very worried about your papa Robbie. He is very sick."

Robbie's brow furrowed as he again cocked his head to stare at LeBeau. The Frenchman sighed to himself, _Oh Robbie, please stop doing that! You are breaking my heart!_

"Mum said that Da is tired."

LeBeau nodded. "Oui Robbie, he is."

"She said he might go to sleep and never wake up. Is that true Uncle Louis?"

LeBeau swallowed the lump in his throat and pulled his friend's oldest son into a fierce hug. "Oui, Robbie. It is possible. Your papa is very sick." He drew back and sighed as he looked Robbie in his eyes. He shook his head at the reminder he saw. _Les yeux de l'enfant sont au vert, tout comme son père._ "But your papa, he is strong. He will not leave us without a fight. Do not give up hope mon petit."

Those familiar-looking green eyes now brimmed with unshed tears. "Uncle Louis I don't want my Da to leave us!"

LeBeau wrapped his arms around Robbie and began gently rocking him. "Neither do I, mon petit. Neither do I. Your dear papa does not _want_ to leave us."

"If he doesn't want to leave then why would he?" Robbie cried.

LeBeau whispered sadly, "Because, mon petit, sometimes we do not have a choice."

Robbie wrapped his arms around LeBeau and buried his face in the Frenchman's coat as he burst into tears. LeBeau held him close, gently stroking his hair as he softly murmured to him in French. _I am sorry_ _Pierre, I cannot keep our agreement right now. Your son needs comfort._

Robbie finally cried himself into exhaustion and fell asleep in LeBeau's arms. He got up and very quietly lay the child on the sofa. He built a barrier of pillows so Robbie wouldn't roll off the sofa and then covered him with a blanket. He gently patted Robbie's head. _Sommeil mon petit. Vous verrez votre père._ He then walked over to where Jo sat.

"Josephine, listen to me chérie." LeBeau sat down next to Jo and placed his hand on her cheek, drawing her eyes to his. "Do not do this to your son. Please. Let him remember Pierre as healthy and vigorous. Not as pale and choking, gasping for air like a dying fish. Do you want his last memory of his dear papa to be like this?"

Jo slowly shook her head. "No Louis! I don't want him to see Peter like this…but…he, he needs to say good bye….doesn't he?"

LeBeau reached over and gently drew Jo's head down onto his shoulder. "Oh chérie, Pierre is still alive. He is still fighting. Surely you have not given up hope?"

"No….yes…" Jo raised her head to look at LeBeau. "Oh Louis! I simply do not know…" she dissolved into sobs and LeBeau took her in his arms.

"Josephine, chérie, shhhhh….." he gently massaged her back as he held her. "Pierre will not give up chérie. He did not give up before."

"He's…he's…so tired Louis. You can…only fight…so much…" Jo's words hitched with her sobs.

"Oui Josephine. You are right. But remember, our Pierre fights beyond the point where most men give up."

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Jo sat alone in the waiting room, contemplating the sandwich on the plate before her. Even though it was already evening and she hadn't eaten all day, she found she could not force down even one bite and so gave up. She simply had no appetite for any food and settled instead for another cup of tea. She sighed heavily. She had relented to LeBeau's pleading and asked Mavis to take Robbie back to his grandparents' house without allowing him see Peter. She, Mavis and LeBeau repeatedly assured Robbie before he left that his father would be better soon. She only hoped they had not been lying to him.

Given Peter's condition, Doctor McFarland now allowed them to remain at his bedside for as long as they wished. LeBeau had taken the opportunity to sit with his friend whilst Jo tried to eat and rest up a bit. Before he left for Peter's room, he told her that Roberts had called and that he would be arriving within the hour. Jo promised LeBeau that she would ask a nurse to inform him when the Vice Marshal arrived.

Jo sat back and closed her eyes. She vacillated between extreme grief and empty numbness. She wished with all her heart that this entire episode was merely a horrible nightmare from which she would wake to find her husband sleeping peacefully beside her.

Jo heard a knock at the door and didn't bother to arise, assuming it was Vice Marshal Roberts. She called over her shoulder, "Robbie? Please come in."

The door swished open and she heard an unfamiliar voice reply with more than a touch of humor, "You know, the only person who can get away with calling me that nowadays is my mother."

Jo turned, completely surprised. A tall, dark haired man in the uniform of a U.S. Air Force General stood in front of her, a bemused grin on his face.

"General Hogan?" Jo couldn't keep the shock out of her voice. "I…I'm sorry...I was expecting Vice Marshal Roberts."

"He's parking the car. He dropped me off and sent me on ahead."

The General tossed his coat and hat on a chair before he approached to sit at Jo's side. He gently took her hands in his. "Tell you what, it would be far less confusing if you'd just call me Rob. You can call me Robbie if you insist, just please don't do it in front of anybody else. Especially not in front of Peter or Louis! I'd never hear the end of it!"

Jo swallowed hard, trying to squelch her emotion at the mention of her husband. "Peter…isn't…he isn't…doing very well…"

Hogan nodded sadly. "I know. Robbie, that is, Vice Marshal Roberts called me yesterday. When he told me Peter's condition, I got on the next available transport."

Jo dropped her head briefly and then looked the General in the eyes. "I don't know how to begin to thank you for helping Peter the way you have…"

Embarrassed, Hogan waved one hand slightly. "I wouldn't've been able to live with myself if I didn't do what I could for him. Peter was one of my best men and he made a great many…sacrifices during the war. What kind of person would I be to forget that?"

Jo noted Hogan's slight hesitation and wondered exactly what he meant by 'sacrifices'. She cast her curiosity aside when he abruptly asked, "May I see Peter?"

She nodded and ran a hand through her hair as she tried to gather her thoughts. "Louis is already there with him. I know he will be very happy to see you."

The General rose to help her to her feet and they exited the room together.

_A/N __The chapter title refers to the refrain from Dylan Thomas' poem "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night"_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter ****12 - Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night**

Jo led Hogan to Peter's room. LeBeau turned and gasped in shock when he saw his former commanding officer come through the door. He had been sitting beside Peter's bed, with his friend's hand clasped within his own. Both surprised and pleased, he leaned over and whispered to Peter, "Pierre! General Hogan is here to see you!"

"General!" he exclaimed as he stood and embraced Hogan. "I am so glad to see you!"

"It's good to see you too Louis, even though these aren't exactly the happiest of circumstances."

"Oui," agreed LeBeau. "As you can see General, mon frère is barely hanging on."

"Please Louis, it's Rob! You're no longer under my command."

"Old habits die hard, Gen- Rob," LeBeau shrugged. He smiled at Jo, who had come to stand at their side, before he took Hogan's arm. They slowly approached Peter's bedside together. Hogan sighed and shook his head sadly at the sight of his friend as he lay within the oxygen tent. Peter's puffy, ashen skin glistened with a thin sheen of perspiration that magnified the unnatural hue of its' underlying blue tinge. He gasped each shallow, rasping breath through his half-open mouth.

LeBeau stepped forward suddenly with a whispered "Excusez-moi General!" He picked up a small atomizer from the nightstand and used it to generously moisten Peter's mouth. He then brought a glass of water to Peter's lips and dribbled a tiny bit into his mouth. "We must do this every half hour."

LeBeau placed the water and atomizer back on the nightstand and turned back to Hogan. "I wish to thank you Rob, for helping Pierre as you have. Poor Josephine had no place to turn and was at her wits' end."

Hogan grasped LeBeau's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze in reply. He then stepped even closer to the bed and reached down to take Peter's limp hand in his. _Oh God, Peter! You look worse than you did the first time!_ Roberts had told him that Peter had broken some ribs during a severe bout of coughing on the way to the hospital. He winced as he noticed the ugly bruises beneath the bandages on his friend's chest.

LeBeau gently nudged the chair behind Hogan. "Please sit down Rob. Pierre will be glad to have your company. Josephine and I will leave you alone." He gathered Jo and they headed for the door. "We will be in the waiting room."

Hogan nodded distractedly, his eyes still riveted on his English friend. "Thank you Louis."

LeBeau and Josephine quietly left the room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After parking the car, Roberts entered the hospital lobby and inquired at the nurses' station as to Hogan's location.

"We directed the General to the family's waiting room, sir," answered the nurse on duty.

Roberts nodded. "Jolly good. Thank you." He headed to the waiting room, expecting to find Hogan there. When there was no answer to his knock, he opened the door to find the room vacant. He stepped back out and walked back down the hall, where he encountered McFarland.

Roberts fell into step beside the physician and inquired, "Has there been any change in Newkirk's condition since yesterday?"

McFarland shook his head. "Only for the worse I'm sorry to say. I feel like I've pulled up against a brick wall."

"You do keep in mind that the Prime Minister has a personal interest in this case?"

McFarland nodded. "Very much so Vice Marshal. Please rest assured that we are doing all we can for Mr. Newkirk."

Roberts reached over to grasp McFarland's shoulder. "I know you are, old man, that's precisely why you were requested for this case." _Among other things_, he thought to himself.

McFarland stopped and faced the RAF Vice Marshal. "I simply do not understand why he is not responding to the antibiotics. We've thrown everything we have at him, yet he's getting worse!"

"Don't give up hope old man. From what Rob's told me, Newkirk has never taken the easy road."

"If that is indeed the case, then he is certainly acting true to form. We're not giving up. As a matter of fact, I was just going to my office to perform a comprehensive review of his treatment plan. I want to see what we can do differently to break through this infection. I will give the PM a concise update when we decide which course to pursue." He suddenly frowned as if trying to remember something. "As a matter of fact, since the PM is himself overdue for a complete physical, I will confer with him on Mr. Newkirk's case when he fulfills his appointment."

Roberts gently thumped McFarland on the back. "Thanks old boy. We all greatly appreciate your efforts." He stepped back and gestured down the hallway. "I believe I will head back to the waiting room for now."

McFarland nodded and the two men parted company.

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After LeBeau and Josephine left the room, Hogan leaned closer to Peter's side. He spoke softly. "Peter? It's me, the Colonel. Do you remember how you used to call me the gov'nor? I'd love to hear you do so again. Heck, you can call me anything you like, if you'd just speak to me. I'm so sorry you're so ill again. I can't believe it. Wasn't once enough?" He shook his head slowly. _Haven't you suffered enough Peter?_ He gently massaged Peter's hand, his voice trailing off as he re-lived the last time he sat at his English friend's side like this.

The camp infirmary was empty, save for Wilson hovering in the background. The Colonel came in and sat in the chair next to Newkirk's cot. He gently grasped his English Corporal's shoulder. "Peter? Can you hear me?" He gave a gentle squeeze. "Peter?"

Newkirk's eyelids fluttered and finally opened. "G-Gov?" he rasped.

"Yes Peter, it's me. The Colonel. I've come to tell you that we're going to get you to London."

"Sir?..." Newkirk's brow furrowed in confusion, then he swallowed hard, trying to avoid a coughing fit. "'ang…about…Colonel…"

Hogan waited until Newkirk caught his breath. "What is it Peter?"

"Gov...?" He stopped as a bout of harsh, wet, tortured coughing interrupted. He swallowed hard several times, chest heaving. He tried again, his voice a hoarse whisper, "Gov...you...still...'ere...?"

Hogan put his hand back on Newkirk's shoulder. "I'm right here Peter. Right here."

"I'm...beggin' ya...please...don't...send me...'ome..." Tears slid down Newkirk's haggard face. "Please..." his voice trailed off hoarsely, exhausted for now.

The Colonel leaned down to speak softly to him. "I'm sorry Peter. My orders for you are firm. We can't risk losing you. This is the only way you're going to survive. Please don't fight me on this."

"But…Gov…"

"No Peter. I've made my decision. You're leaving for London tonight."

"No...Gov...all of...us..." Peter's voice faded into a hoarse whisper, yet he still continued. "All of...us...out the...out the..." his voice finally gave out.

Hogan gently cupped the side of Newkirk's head with one hand and nodded sadly. "I know Peter, I know. All of us out the front gate together."

Newkirk nodded in return, the tears still coursing down his face.

"I'm sorry Peter," was all Hogan could think to say. "I'm sorry." He gently smoothed Newkirk's hair back off his forehead, trying to comfort him. "You need treatment that we simply can't get for you here. What kind of commanding officer would I be to let you die when I can help you? Especially after what you've just done for us. Now I want you to close your eyes and get some sleep, okay? Would you do that for me Peter?"

Newkirk tried to answer, then suddenly choked and turned his head away, seized by another coughing fit. When it finally stopped, his eyes slowly rolled closed and he drifted into an uneasy doze.

Hogan bowed his head as he watched over his English Corporal. "Get some rest Peter. You've got a busy night ahead of you. We all do."

The General felt tears welling up in his own eyes as the memories faded. He stared sadly at Newkirk. "The doctors are doing everything possible for you Peter. I want you to keep fighting, do you hear me? Fight stubbornly through this ordeal the way you did before. I know you can do it!"

He tucked Peter's hand back at his side with a gentle squeeze and took a moment to compose himself. He reached into his pocket and retrieved two envelopes. "Peter, I hope you don't mind that I told a couple of others about your illness. They responded immediately and they're both very concerned about you. I'd like to pass on their best hopes and wishes for you." He unfolded the first piece of paper. "I had my assistant transcribe this message straight from the phone. I'm pretty sure you'll recognize who this is from without me telling you. Here it is." He began reading:

_Hey buddy! I sure am sorry to hear that you're sick. The Colonel, I mean the General, told me you're not doing __very well. I want to let you know that Mary Jane and I are thinking about you and we really hope you get better soon. Mom sends her love as always. She's real worried about you, and she's sending you a letter as well as a package of her homemade cookies that you like so much. Gee buddy, I remember how sick you got at the end of the war! I sure hope you're not as sick now as you were back then. We were all so scared you were going to die. You hang in there buddy and always remember that I love you! Please give our love to Jo and the boys. Get well soon Peter...please. We need you buddy, we need you now just as much as we did before. Your younger brother and best friend, Andrew._

Hogan reached into the oxygen tent and gently patted Newkirk's arm. "He's really worried about you Peter. We all are." He unfolded the second piece of paper. "Someone else is very worried about you as well." He began reading again:

_My dear son, General __Hogan called to tell us that you are very ill. Your Uncle Manfred explained your condition to me and said it was very serious. Oh Peter, my heart aches that you must endure this terrible sickness again! Please know that I love you with all my heart, my dear one. I earnestly pray that you recover your health soon for the sake of your beautiful Josephine and your precious sons. Please let us know if there is anything we can do to help. Astrid and Petzi as well as your Uncle Manfred ask to be remembered to you dear Peter and they send their heartfelt love as well. I love you my son. Your mama, Katrin._

"Well Peter I guess that's all for now. I will be here for as long as it takes. I want to hear your voice again, do you hear me? If I have to make that an order I will." He dropped his head and chuckled. "Yes, I know. We aren't even in the same army. You aren't even in any army right now. But consider it an order nonetheless, my friend." He refolded the papers and slipped them underneath Peter's hand, and then clasped it gently. "I'll either be right here by your side or in the waiting room. I won't leave until you speak to me."

The door opened a few minutes later and a nurse entered. "I'm sorry General but it is time for us to attend to the patient's hygiene. I must ask you to leave. We will let you know as soon as possible when he can have visitors."

Hogan rose and nodded at the nurse. "I understand completely." He looked down at Peter. "Now you cooperate with the nurses, Peter, you hear me?" He looked at the nurse again. "He's a notoriously bad patient; that is, when he's awake. But I probably don't need to tell you that."

The nurse nodded back. "He fought us quite a bit in the emergency treatment room."

Hogan frowned a bit in puzzlement at that statement before he answered, "That's him all right. He's quite the fighter." He turned to leave. "Thank you for taking such good care of him."

"You are most welcome General. We are doing all we can. May I have someone direct you to the family's waiting room?"

"No thank you, I know where it is." He exited Peter's room and headed to the waiting room. He knocked and Jo came to the door.

"Please come in General." Jo amended her words at Hogan's raised eyebrow. "I mean, Rob." She whispered, "At least I didn't call you Robbie."

Hogan gently squeezed her hand and whispered back, "For which I will be eternally grateful."

Mavis had by this time returned from Jo's parents' house and she stood when Hogan entered the room. "General! It's so good to see you again."

Hogan gave her an expansive hug and spoke into her ear. "Mavis, I can't tell you how sorry I am. And please, you call me Rob as well."

Mavis nodded, "All right Rob. Peter'll be 'appy to see you."

Hogan released Mavis and guided her back to her seat. "I've just come from visiting with him. The nurse asked me to leave so they could take care of some private matters." He turned and put his hands on his hips. "Well Robbie! I see you finally were able to park the car."

"Oh yes, that. Quite the busy place, this hospital. Parking is, shall we say, a bit of a sticky wicket. I'm afraid that we'll have to walk a bit to reach the car, Rob."

Hogan shook his head. "Not me Robbie. I'm staying here until Peter wakes up and tells me to leave! That is, if it's all right with Jo and Mavis."

"We wouldn't have it any other way Rob," smiled Jo.

Roberts nodded, "Good show! I didn't feel like making that trek anytime soon myself. If you ladies don't mind, I would like to stay as well."

Mavis nodded her approval, "No worries! We'd like the company, right Louis?" She looked over at LeBeau, who had been sitting alone off to the side in uncharacteristic silence.

"Hmm? Oh, oui! Certainement! Pierre needs all of our encouragement."

Even though LeBeau appeared to be in a pensive mood, Hogan walked over to him and spoke in a voice too low for the rest to hear. "Louis, the nurse told me Peter was literally fighting them in emergency treatment. What's that all about?"

LeBeau sighed noiselessly and answered in an equally hushed voice. "Pierre was very agitated. His mind has gone back to the camp, Rob. He thinks he is still in Germany."

"Oh Peter...," murmured Hogan. He sat back, rubbing his forehead. "Thanks Louis. I should've known. He wasn't happy with the way things ended up seven years ago."

"It could not be helped, Rob!"

"Louis, you know that and I know that. Peter knows it as well, but it doesn't mean that he ever accepted it."

"Oui, you are right. Pierre is a stubborn man, both for the good and for the bad."

"You've got that right. Thanks for telling me his state of mind. I needed to know."

LeBeau nodded glumly and looked up as a knock sounded at the door.

Mavis started to get up to answer the door, but Roberts was closer to it. "Allow me Mavis." He opened the door to admit Doctor McFarland. He brought McFarland over to Hogan and introduced him. "Doctor, I would like you to meet General Robert Hogan, United States Air Force. Rob, this is Newkirk's physician."

Hogan stood and shook hands with McFarland. "I am very pleased to meet you Doctor. I want to thank you for everything you've done for Peter."

"You're welcome General, although we haven't been able to yet see any improvement. On the contrary, his condition continues to deteriorate."

"Keep at it. Peter is a fighter. He won't give up, believe me."

"Neither will we. That's precisely the reason for my visit. I've just conducted a detailed review of his treatment plan and feel that we need to adjust his antibiotic protocol. What we have been giving him so far has obviously not done the job. I would like to get Mrs. Newkirk's permission to use a fairly new, experimental antibiotic to try to break this infection. I hate to have to say this, but if this protocol does not succeed...well, just in case, you all must prepare yourselves." McFarland unconsciously paced in a small circle as he spoke. "I recommend that you each spend as much time as possible with him, again, just in case. I have never seen a case of pneumonia this severe." He stopped pacing and looked up. "I am sorry to again be the bearer of bad tidings." He gestured to Jo. "Mrs. Newkirk? What do you think?"

"Doctor, you have my permission. Anything that has the potential to help Peter is all right with me."

McFarland nodded. "Thank you. I'll have the nurse bring the forms for you to sign. If you will please excuse me, I would like to begin the new protocol right now."

Jo sighed heavily and closed her eyes. Hogan came near and put his arm around her shoulders to guide her over to the sofa. She nodded and spoke softly, "I'll be all right Rob. I simply must get used to this." Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I thought I had prepared myself for the worst, but I seem to have failed miserably."

"No one ever gets used to this Jo, believe me. We don't know how 'the worst' will affect us until it happens. Try to be as strong as you can, yet grieve at the same time. But please, don't give up. Peter hasn't. I know he hasn't."

Jo nodded and leaned into Hogan's offered embrace. She sent a silent message to her husband. _Please hang on darling! We're all here for you!_

Each of them were so preoccupied with their own thoughts they didn't notice as Louis quietly slipped out the door.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter ****13 - The Mystic Chords of Memory**

_A/N: __Mea culpa! I forgot to mention in the last chapter that the characters of Manfred, Katrin, Astrid (aka Nightingale) and Petzi are OCs from my previous story "A Mother's Love" for those of you who have not read it._

As he sat in the waiting room along with Jo, Mavis and Roberts, LeBeau suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding encroaching upon him. He hadn't been deliberately thinking dark thoughts; on the contrary, he forced himself to maintain his optimistic outlook for the sake of Josephine and Mavis in particular. He had the utmost confidence in his friend Peter's inner strength. He knew with every fiber of his being that his English friend would overcome this illness. He idly let his mind wander to the past, back to the time seven years earlier when Peter had bravely fought and won his battle to survive. He had been startled out of his reverie by Mavis' words and noticed for the first time that General Hogan had returned. After speaking with Hogan, he had listened to McFarland with increasing dismay. The doctor's words caused the negative emotions to again roil inside him. After the doctor left, he decided he simply had to leave the room to try to get a grip on himself.

He slipped out the door without a word to the others and hurried through the front lobby to finally dash out the main entrance. He shivered as the brisk night air surrounded him. It was a beautiful evening; the crescent moon waned low on the horizon and the stars glowed magnificently against a clear, inky sky. He walked to the far end of the portico, taking deep breaths of the cold air in an attempt to keep his composure. _What is wrong with me? I must keep calm and strong. I must!_ He leaned his face against the cold marble facing of the building, hoping it would help quell the unreasoning anxiety he felt. Despite his efforts to calm himself, he grew increasingly distressed. He could not understand why this crippling wave of despair suddenly engulfed him. He raised his eyes heavenward and uttered a desperate, gut wrenching prayer after which he immediately felt an overwhelming compulsion to see Peter. _Pierre? What is wrong mon frère?_ He gasped as he finally realized what lay behind this unreasoning dread. Something was not right with his English friend!

He quickly turned to rush back to Peter's room. McFarland was just leaving and LeBeau reached out to grasp his arm.

"Doctor? What is wrong with Pierre?"

"Mr. LeBeau? How could you possibly…?"

LeBeau shook his head. "It does not matter Doctor, please tell me!"

"His fever spiked dangerously right after I administered the new antibiotic. We've just now stabilized him and he needs to rest undisturbed."

"Please, I must see him! I beg of you!"

McFarland hesitated. He completely understood LeBeau's impassioned request yet he wanted his patient to rest. He saw the desperation within as he looked into the Frenchman's eyes, and sighed before he relented. "Yes, I will allow you to see him. He needs the support of his family and friends now more than ever." He opened the door and LeBeau shook his hand gratefully before he stepped inside.

"Merci Doctor!"

McFarland spoke softly as the door closed in front of him. "This may well be the turning point for your friend, Mr. LeBeau."

LeBeau sighed despondently as he approached his friend's bedside. The medical staff had had to envelope Peter's torso with cold water bottles in their successful effort to lower his temperature. Several still surrounded his chest, with a bottle nestled under each of his arms. LeBeau closed his eyes momentarily to suppress the memories triggered by the sight. The words he had cried seven years earlier echoed in his mind.

_Pierre, please do not leave us! Please do not give in mon ami!_ _ Fight, mon ami! Fight for your life! Do not give in!_

He sank into the chair beside the bed and took his English friend's hand firmly within his. He bowed his head as he summoned up every ounce of courage he could find within himself. He deliberately recalled every detail of their ordeal of seven years earlier and leaned down to whisper urgently, "Pierre! Écoutez Pierre! Remember how you survived before! Remember mon ami! You must remember in order to survive now Pierre!"

Peter coughed weakly and LeBeau reached inside the oxygen tent to gently mop the perspiration from his face. He leaned in even closer and continued to whisper intensely to his English friend. "Do not forget that I am sitting here right now because of you mon frère! André, Richard, Joe, the Colonel, all of us from the camp, we are all alive because of you! You did not give up then Pierre! Please remember! You will survive now as you did then!" He sat back a bit and gently patted Peter's hand. "Fight for your life as you did then! I will remain here for as long as I need to mon ami, because _you will_ _survive_!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mavis sighed and looked round the room. _Where's Louis?_ She stood and walked over to look out the door before she turned to face the rest of the room's occupants. "Did any of you lot see where Louis went?"

Hogan and Roberts frowned at each other in puzzlement and Hogan shook his head in answer. Jo was half-asleep, still within the General's arms. He motioned with his head for Mavis to come near and softly whispered, "Please look after Jo for me Mavis. Robbie and I will go find Louis." Truth be told, he was worried that the Frenchman had slipped out without anyone noticing. LeBeau had borne the brunt of the unrelenting grief and anxiety of the last few days and Hogan feared it was finally catching up with him.

Mavis nodded and sat down beside Jo, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as Hogan rose. Roberts followed him as he made his way out the door. They stood together for a moment whilst Hogan got his bearings.

"Well Rob where do you think LeBeau is?"

Hogan looked down the hallway and grabbed Roberts' arm to bring him into step beside him as he began walking. "I think I've got a pretty good idea of where he is Robbie. Come on."

Roberts followed Hogan as he made his way to Newkirk's room. The General opened the door quietly and peered inside before he entered. "C'mon Robbie," he whispered. The two men walked into the room to find LeBeau sitting beside Newkirk's bed, talking to him in a low, intense voice.

Hogan reached out and placed his hand on LeBeau's shoulder. He had been so engrossed in talking to Peter he hadn't noticed their entrance.

"Oh! Rob! What…?"

"Mavis noticed you had left the room and we came to find you."

LeBeau nodded and returned to his one-sided conversation with Peter. Hogan crouched down beside the bed and looked over at the Frenchman.

"Louis? What are you telling him?"

"I am telling him not to give up! I am telling him to remember how he did not give up seven years ago! I am telling him to gather the strength he displayed in the camp! I am telling him he must not leave us!" His eyes drifted back to his English friend and he muttered to himself, "No, he simply must not leave us."

Hogan smiled nostalgically at the Frenchman's characteristic fervor. _Louis is okay! He hasn't changed one bit! Still as feisty as ever!_ The Vice Marshal came to stand beside them.

"Bloody hell!" murmured Roberts as he got his first glimpse of Newkirk since accompanying them to the hospital. "Hopefully this new antibiotic McFarland is using will do the job. What are the water bottles for?"

LeBeau gestured sadly, "Mon ami's fever spiked after the doctor administered the antibiotic." He unconsciously tightened his grip on Peter's hand as he spoke.

Hogan got up to move a couple of chairs beside LeBeau and gestured to Roberts. "Do you mind if we sit with you and Peter, Louis?"

"No Rob. I am sure that Pierre will appreciate the company."

The two men sat quietly whilst LeBeau resumed his conversation with his critically ill friend. After a moment, Roberts leaned forward, elbows on his knees with his hands clasped and dangling down. "You may not believe this Rob, but I never got the full story of what happened back then. When you told me Newkirk was dying of pneumonia and that you needed my help, we didn't take the time to discuss how it had happened."

Hogan nodded. "I was definitely in full blown panic mode back then."

Roberts nodded in return. "Of course, I realize that the details of your entire operation remain classified, but one of the privileges of my rank _is_ a rather high level security clearance. Not to mention the firsthand knowledge I gained from my own little adventure with you and your team."

Hogan sat silently, his gaze focused inward. _Oh God, where do I begin?_ He sat for several long minutes, gathering his thoughts and memories, before he turned to LeBeau for help.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jo roused herself to find her head against Mavis' shoulder. The last thing she remembered was signing the permission forms and then collapsing back into Hogan's arms. "Mave? What, what happened? Where is everyone?"

"Louis slipped out without any of us noticing and the men went to look for 'im."

Jo sat up and then got to her feet. Mavis grabbed her arm. "Where are ya goin' Jo?"

"I need to find Doctor McFarland."

"Why?"

"I just need to speak to him." Truth be told, Jo felt she would simply go stark raving mad if she didn't flee the room at once. A surge of unreasoning, wild rage suddenly boiled up within her and she had to leave before she lost control and lashed out hurtfully at Mavis. It wasn't Mavis' fault that she happened to be the only one who was there. Jo desperately wanted to see Peter, but wasn't sure if she would be allowed to. She decided to find the doctor to ask him if she could visit her husband. She took a deep breath and tried to distance herself from the anger before she turned back to Mavis.

"Mave, would you please wait here in case any of the men return? I won't be gone very long, I promise." Her voice wavered shakily with the effort it took to keep it calm.

Mavis stared at her oddly but then nodded in agreement. Jo gave her a quick hug in thanks and left the room. She paused just outside the door and decided to head to the nursing station to inquire after Doctor McFarland.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The doctor in question was headed back to his critically ill patient's room to check on his progress, if any. He walked in, surprised to see that General Hogan and Vice Marshal Roberts were there with LeBeau.

"Gentlemen?"

Hogan stood and approached McFarland. "Doctor, would it be too much of an intrusion if we sat here with Peter?"

"No, no I don't think so. I will be coming in periodically to check on him and monitor his condition. I had hoped to see some improvement tonight, if there is to be any. Please come get me at once should you notice any sudden or obvious change in his condition. I will be in my office."

Hogan nodded thoughtfully and moved to sit back down as McFarland busied himself with his patient. The General leaned forward in his chair, watching as the doctor took Newkirk's vitals. "How's he doing Doctor?"

"He does not seem to be any worse than before. He seems to be holding steady." McFarland finished his examination and updated his patient's chart. "Please keep a close eye on him gentlemen. As I said, please notify me of any changes."

"We will. Thank you Doctor."

McFarland nodded to each of them and left the room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jo was just about to turn the corner to approach the nursing station when she overheard two of the nurses discussing her husband. She stood still, one hand braced against the wall.

"Dr. McFarland wants to personally monitor Mr. Newkirk's condition whilst he undergoes this new protocol."

"Why is this patient even here? He's a civilian!"

"Special orders, dearie. Ours not to question why…"

"It's very irregular to say the least. And the PM's private physician is his primary! I must say, it's all rather strange."

Jo startled at the mention of the PM. _McFarland is Churchill's private physician? Why in the world would he be attending to Peter?_ She had gratefully accepted the intervention of both an RAF Vice Marshal and a USAF Major General, but the Prime Minister? What could his interest in Peter's recovery possible be? She shook her head in confusion as the first nurse's voice sounded again.

"Shhh! This has all come down from the highest level so I wouldn't say anything more if I were you."

Jo heard a heavy sigh and then a truculent, "Oh all right, if you insist! Why don't I change the subject then?" The nurse's voice dropped a bit in volume and Jo strained somewhat to hear her words. "Have you seen that dishy Yank General?"

"Oh yes! And his friend the Vice Marshal is rather easy on the eyes as well…"

The conversation deteriorated from there into hushed whispers and barely suppressed giggles. Jo backtracked and decided to try to locate either Louis, Rob or Robbie on her own. She had many questions she needed answers to. She decided to head to Peter's room first, wanting to check on him before she set out in search of the others.

Jo approached Peter's room slowly, as she did not wish to disturb her husband in any way. She tried to open the door as quietly as possible and had succeeded in pushing it open a mere hairsbreadth when she heard Louis' voice followed by both Hogan's and Roberts' voices. When she heard LeBeau mention Peter's name, she stopped cold and wedged her foot against the bottom of the door to keep it just barely cracked open.

"Pierre became deathly ill seven years ago because he spent most of that night and part of the next day out in the blizzard."

"What was Peter doing alone outside of the camp in that kind of weather, Louis?" asked Roberts.

Jo gasped silently; they were discussing Peter's time as a prisoner! _Oh come now Josephine! _she chided herself. _You've already eavesdropped on the nurses and here you are again, snooping like a common fishwife! If Peter wanted you to know these things, he would have told you!_ She had just decided to leave when LeBeau began speaking again. _Oh Peter love, please forgive me!_ She remained there as if mesmerized, listening to the Frenchman's words.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14 – Courage Lies in Every Heart**

LeBeau paused briefly to consider how he would answer Roberts' question. He took a deep breath and went on to explain that they had been on what turned out to be their last mission of the war, namely, to ensure that the rebuilt Adolph Hitler bridge came crashing down before the remnants of the Heer and Panzerkorps could cross to relative safety. They had just completed mining the bridge with timed explosives and were headed back to camp when an SS patrol cut across their path extremely too close for comfort. Newkirk ordered all of them to return to camp whilst he diverted the patrol away from them. LeBeau, Carter and Baker had all protested vigorously to no avail. LeBeau still remembered Newkirk's parting words before he dashed back into the woods. _The gov'nor put me in charge and 'e expects me to get you lot back safe Louis. That's what I'm doin'. Now go on. Go!_ His tone changed from command to pleading._ Please go mates! If they catch you, they'll shoot you! And don't lag about in this cold! Get back to camp and I'll see you there._ And then he was gone.

LeBeau glanced over at Hogan. "I remember what you told Pierre before we left mon Colonel. You told him that you trusted him to bring us back safely. And...and he did."

Hogan nodded sadly. "Yes. I'll remember that night for the rest of my life." He looked over at Peter as LeBeau resumed his narrative.

After Newkirk took off, the three men had rushed as quietly as they could towards the camp, oddly grateful for the distraction of the blizzard and cold. Carter kept looking back and LeBeau pushed him forward.

"He will return André. How many times has he led a Boche patrol on a merry chase and then shown up back at camp boasting and grinning like a fool?"

Carter didn't look convinced but he nodded and pushed on. They were just about to the tree stump entrance to the tunnel when the unmistakable sound of gunshots rang out above the blustery wind. Both Baker and Carter stopped and turned around to go back. Even though it nearly tore him apart to do so, LeBeau moved quickly to stand in front of them. "No mes amis! We are nearly home! Pierre is giving the patrol something to throw them off his track! Trust me! He is a clever one, our Pierre! Now come! Here is the tree stump. We cannot risk being discovered now so close to the end!" He fervently prayed he was right as he watched first Carter, then Baker descend inside the tree stump.

Carter and Baker also hoped against all hope that LeBeau was right as they clambered down the ladder. LeBeau brought up the rear and they found the Colonel in the tunnel, anxiously awaiting their arrival. He began pacing as they reported what happened on the way back from the bridge. The four of them remained underground for the rest of the night, listening and waiting for their Englishman. Unfortunately, something had gone very wrong for Newkirk did not return.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Just before next morning's roll call, the men of Barracks Two heard the rumble of vehicles entering the camp, followed after a moment by a shout of sheer panic. "Colonel Hogan! Komm Schnell!" Schultz' voice rang out uncharacteristically high and thin, sharpened by naked fear.

Everyone rushed out the door and followed Schultz' horrified gaze towards the compound; both Carter and LeBeau cried out at the sight meeting their eyes.

A battered and bloodied Newkirk was being mercilessly dragged out of the back of a truck. His black clothing was torn and muddy. He was shackled and chained with heavy manacles not only on his arms and legs, but also around his neck like a dog's collar. He staggered and stumbled, falling several times. The chains clanked together noisily, producing a discordant metallic jangling that echoed unceasingly as the Englishman was roughly jerked along by an SS guard.

Hogan moved to charge over but halted when Hochstetter exited the staff car and hailed the guard holding Newkirk. "Station him in front of Barracks Two. Make him stand at attention. If he disobeys, shoot him! If he falls, shoot him! We shall see how long he lasts."

The men watched in horror as the guard yanked Newkirk over to stand in front of their barracks. He slowly raised his head to reveal blackened, puffy eyes, a bloody nose and a split, swollen lip. God only knew what further damage was concealed beneath his ripped clothing.

"Mon Dieu! Pierre!" LeBeau moved to run to his friend; Hogan grabbed him and restrained him with an arm across his chest.

"Not now Louis," the Colonel whispered, his eyes locked on his English Corporal.

Newkirk painfully turned his head to look at both LeBeau and Hogan dead in the eyes. The harsh clanking of the chains was the only sound as he sent a silent message. _No lil' mate! Forget about me! Go back! Save yourselves!_

LeBeau gasped as he met his friend's anguished yet determined green eyes. He turned away, his own eyes filling with tears at his English friend's sacrifice.

Hochstetter ordered several more SS guards to herd the prisoners back into the barracks. He glanced disdainfully in Hogan's direction and called out to the guards. "If they do not obey, shoot the Englander!"

"Colonel?" Carter looked desperately at his commanding officer.

"Back in the barracks Carter." Hogan frowned; he didn't like what he saw in Hochstetter's eyes. "They mean business this time."

"But Colonel! Peter! He's…" Carter couldn't finish.

"I know Andrew. I know. C'mon let's get back inside." Hogan herded his distraught men back into the barracks as an SS guard took up a post outside the door.

Once inside, Hogan gestured to one of the other men. "Goldman watch the door." Goldman jumped up to obey the Colonel's order. He then turned to Carter, "Andrew, go get Wilson right now. Peter's going to need him." Carter jumped down into the tunnel, grateful for the distraction of a task.

Hogan turned when LeBeau grabbed his arm. The Frenchman spoke in a low whisper, mindful of the SS standing guard outside the door. "Colonel, Pierre put himself in harm's way to save us! We cannot let these filthy Boche kill him!"

"I know, Louis, I know. But we have to consider the bigger picture here. We can't let anything jeopardize that bridge blowing. Too much depends on that. It's vital that those panzers remain stranded on the west side of the river. Plus the game's changed. The Krauts have absolutely nothing to lose now. Look at Hochstetter - he's crazy dangerous. One wrong move and Peter's dead." Hogan didn't have to mention what they all already knew; namely, that an evacuation of the operation was not an option this late in the game. London had mandated a stay in place order pending the Allied liberation of the stalag.

"But Colonel, if we don't do something quick he'll die out there in that cold!" Baker murmured.

"I know, I know," Hogan muttered to himself. He paced back and forth across the room for several long minutes before he came to a decision. He flung the barracks door open and strode outside, intent on confronting Hochstetter regardless of the danger to himself. The SS guard immediately blocked his path.

"Nein! Verboten!" The guard raised his rifle. Hogan stopped but did not retreat. He stood firm, directing a withering glare at the guard. The guard glanced over his shoulder at Hochstetter, who nodded gleefully. Instantly the guard brought the butt of his rifle up to connect with the Colonel's chin. Stunned by the glancing blow, Hogan fell to his knees and would have done a face plant in the snow were it not for his men, who had rushed outside to retrieve him.

Newkirk saw what happened and automatically moved to help his CO. He gasped and closed his eyes as he felt the business end of a rifle jabbed roughly against the back of his head. He slowly straightened back to attention (or as close as he could get in his condition) and stood motionless as he waited for the bullet to blast through his skull. The guard held the gun's muzzle against his head for a moment longer and then suddenly stood back with a grunt. Newkirk swallowed hard and tried to stop his legs from shaking. _Why didn't 'e shoot me?_

Hochstetter strolled over. "Let that be a lesson to you Hogan. I will not tolerate any more interference from you!" He looked up at the sound of footsteps approaching behind him and turned around. "Or anyone else!"

Schultz had gone to the Kommandantur to fetch Klink and they both rushed over. Klink raised his arm and gestured at Hochstetter as he came near.

"Major Hochstetter! I protest! The Englander is my prisoner! You have no right to..to…" Klink stopped in shock as he noticed Hogan being carried into the barracks by his men. His voice rose a full octave in fear. "You assaulted Colonel Hogan?"

"Bah!" Hochstetter moved intimidatingly close to Klink and brandished his Luger. "Klink do not dare to push me! I will prove once and for all that your precious Colonel Hogan is none other than the notorious Papa Bear! This man…" he gestured savagely at Newkirk. "This Englander was captured several kilometers from here. He was not in uniform so he will be considered a spy. He is no longer your prisoner and he can no longer hide behind the Geneva Convention!" Hochstetter's voice gradually rose in pitch as he grew angrier. "He is more than a spy! He is a saboteur against the Third Reich and he will be punished accordingly!"

Klink shrank back from the tirade. To his credit, he tried to stand up to the Gestapo Major, though his voice shook mightily as he spoke. "Major, I have just placed several calls to General Burkhalter's office! We shall see what he says!"

Hochstetter snorted contemptuously as he holstered his gun. "General Burkhalter has not been seen or heard from since the last Allied air raid on Berlin earlier this month, Herr Kommandant." He growled the last two words menacingly. "I would not expect any help from him if I were you."

"We will see Major!" Klink bustled past Hochstetter to enter Barracks Two, with Schultz right behind him.

Hochstetter strolled back over to inspect Newkirk as he stood shivering and shaking in the brutal cold. "Well Corporal? Perhaps you will tell me why you were outside of this camp dressed in these clothes, eh?"

Newkirk merely glared at the Gestapo major. He didn't care what happened to himself as long as the mission proved successful and his mates were safe.

"I am waiting Englander." Hochstetter stopped pacing and stood right in front of Newkirk. He pulled his Luger from its holster and brandished it menacingly. "Answer me now!"

Newkirk's thin voice shook with the cold. "Y-you..g-go to..hell…Major!"

Hochstetter smashed Newkirk across the face with the butt of his Luger and then screamed at him, "You will tell me what you were doing outside of this camp and you will tell me now!"

Newkirk managed not to fall, though just barely. He slowly drew himself back up to impassively stare down onto Hochstetter, as if he were examining some inconsequential insect. He deliberately tried to keep his voice from shaking this time and succeeded somewhat.

"If..you…must…know…I…was….tryin'..to…contact…our…boys….they're…gettin'….closer….you…know…" The cold was beginning to scramble his thoughts and his speech began to slur. "And…they'll….wanta….wanta…uh…know…why…I'm….bein'…uh…bein'…uh…." he suddenly found he couldn't put the words together.

"Bah!" shouted Hochstetter. "You will stand at attention until you tell me what I want to know!"

Newkirk stared blankly at the screaming man, desperately trying to stay awake. A wave of weariness suddenly washed over him and he stumbled a bit, seeking to keep his balance. The guard raised his rifle and stepped forward in anticipation.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Klink and Schultz entered Hogan's quarters to find Wilson already tending to the Colonel, who was lying on his bottom bunk. Surprisingly enough he was awake, although a bit dazed. "Who's there?" he mumbled despite Wilson's ministrations to his jaw.

Wilson glanced behind his shoulder without skipping a beat. "It's Kommandant Klink and Sergeant Schultz sir."

Klink came near. "Colonel Hogan? I cannot believe what just happened. Are you all right?"

Hogan spoke slowly and with some difficulty. "I will be. You've got eyewitnesses to what just happened Kommandant." He gestured at Schultz. "Sergeant Schultz and Corporal Langenscheidt saw everything, didn't you?"

The German guard stepped forward, nodding nervously. "Ja Colonel. Karl and I saw what happened while we were standing in front of the Kommandant's office waiting for him."

"Colonel, it would help if you wouldn't try to talk." Wilson was growing increasingly frustrated.

Hogan was as well and he rolled his eyes in response. "Well, at least I found out what I wanted to know."

"What was that?" asked Klink.

"Hochstetter's state of mind."

Wilson spoke sotto voce out of the side of his mouth. "Wish you coulda found a less painful method sir."

Hogan tried to hold in a chuckle but was unsuccessful, wincing at the resultant pain. "Ow…"

"Please hold still sir. I need to bandage your chin. You're fortunate he only hit you a glancing blow. We could've been dealing with a broken jaw here, instead of a badly bruised one."

"Just call me Mr. Lucky." Hogan motioned for Klink to sit at his desk. "Kommandant, what are you going to do about Newkirk?"

Klink reacted to Hogan's question by instantly sitting up ramrod straight. He stared at Hogan in shock. "What can I do, other than try to reach General Burkhalter? Hochstetter said the General hasn't been seen since that last massive Allied air raid on Berlin. I hope for all our sakes it isn't true."

Hogan nodded, prompting another protest from Wilson that he please keep still. The Colonel knew exactly which raid Klink referred to. _Operation Thunderclap, part of the Eighth Air Force's final drive to destroy the Nazi capital's infrastructure._ The mission before their current one had been to provide background intelligence for London in preparation for Thunderclap. Apparently the raid had been successful. Unfortunately for Newkirk, Burkhalter may have been part of the collateral damage. It didn't matter anyway. There simply wasn't time for any phone calls to Berlin.

Hogan glanced at Wilson. "Almost finished Joe?"

Wilson knew that tone and tried to adopt one of his own. "Yes sir, and I'm going to have to insist that you lie there for at least half an hour and rest. From what I was told, you lost consciousness for a few moments."

"Sorry Joe. No can do. I'll rest when Newkirk is out of the hands of that madman out there. Just give me something for this headache. We don't have the luxury of time right now."

Wilson sighed heavily. He knew his commanding officer was right. The priority now was to get Newkirk indoors before he froze to death. "Right sir. I know."

Hogan smiled sadly in commiseration and edged off the bunk. He accepted Wilson's offer of a hand to help him to his feet and once up, he slowly moved over to prop himself against his desk across from Klink.

"Colonel Klink, I'm going to level with you." Hogan put both hands on his desk and leaned in to stare the Kommandant directly in the face. "The U.S. 14th Armored Division is currently 225 kilometers southwest of here and they are on the move. They're headed straight for Stalag 13."

Hogan glanced at Schultz; there was no mistaking the big man's shudder of fear at his words.

"Hogan! How do you know this?" Klink had to at least make a pretense of being shocked.

"That's not important Kommandant. What's important is that it's true and nothing is going to stop them. What do you plan to do when those Sherman tanks come crashing through the front gate? What are you going to say when I tell them you allowed the Gestapo to torture and murder one of my men?"

Klink blanched and shakily came to his feet. He pointed at the door. "Hogan, what would you have me do? That's Hochstetter out there! He's insane!"

Hogan stood back and nodded. "I've known that for a long time Kommandant. All I'm asking for is your cooperation. I have a plan to get rid of Hochstetter and his goons and I'll need your help." He held up his hand to forestall any questions. "And I need you to not question what you see. I guarantee that it'll go a lot easier for you when the GI's storm this place if I can tell them you helped me save the life of one of my men."

Klink sat back down and dropped his head into his hands. "I'm not under any ideals of misguided loyalty to the Reich, Hogan. I know all is lost. I simply do not know what we can do to help Newkirk. It may be too late."

Hogan leaned down. "Let me take care of that Kommandant. If you're willing to listen, I'll tell you exactly what I need you to do, as well as what I need you _not_ to do."

Klink sighed heavily and looked up. "Go ahead. I will cooperate fully with whatever you have in mind. What have I got to lose?"

"Exactly Kommandant. I promise that you won't regret this." Hogan sat down and outlined his plan.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I am disappointed in you Corporal. You have not been very cooperative." Hochstetter slowly paced around the freezing Englishman as he spoke.

Even though Newkirk could barely see through his throbbing, swollen eyes, he tried to focus a scornful glare in the Gestapo Major's direction.

Hochstetter came to a stop in front of Newkirk. "So you still refuse to talk, eh?"

Newkirk tried to oblige him. Name, rank and serial number only. "N-N-New-k-kirk, P-Peter..." He stopped; his name was all that he could remember right now.

Hochstetter leaned into the Englishman's face and bellowed, "Have you not heard? All is not lost! We are the children of the gods and they are merciful!"

Newkirk blinked in as much surprise as he could muster in his condition. The man was truly mad!

Hochstetter's eyes bulged menacingly as he continued, "The world will not forget that we are the Master Race!" He took a few more steps around the RAF Corporal and gestured hysterically with a fisted hand. "Tell me what I want to know or I will shoot every prisoner in this camp!"

It was obvious to the Englishman that the Gestapo Major was using his suffering to try to force his mates to reveal their operation. Newkirk gathered his thoughts as best he could and determined to stand firm until the bridge blew. Afterwards, he would confess to being the sole perpetrator of a rogue act of sabotage in an attempt to take suspicion off his friends. In the meantime he played for time by calling Hochstetter's bluff with a barely coherent, "G-get st-st-stuffed Major!"

Hochstetter jabbed his arm out at a nearby guard, who ran over and came to attention. "Remove the Englander's clothing!" he screamed. The guard nodded as he shouldered his rifle and began roughly stripping Newkirk of his clothes.

Hochstetter moved to stand in front of the barracks door as the guard literally ripped Newkirk's clothes off his body. He deliberately spoke loud enough for his words to be heard inside the barracks, as he knew Hogan's men would be listening. "Since the Englander's clothing was decidedly non-regulation, we have relieved him of them. Since he would not tell us why he was clothed the way he was, nor where his uniform was, we have confirmed that he is now definitely out of uniform. Therefore, he will be shot as a spy. That is, if he does not freeze to death first."

His task complete, the guard kicked the remnants of Newkirk's coat and blacks on the ground in front of him. The Englishman stood there shaking uncontrollably, clothed with nothing save shackles, chains and underwear in the dangerously bitter cold. His eyes radiated anguish and pain, tempered by defiance.

Carter, LeBeau and Baker were huddled at the barracks door. Wilson had shooed everyone out of the Colonel's quarters after they had carried him in.

Carter had opened the door to the thinnest crack to observe everything. He silently closed it, then sagged against the bunk frame and buried his face in his hands. LeBeau gently gripped Carter's shoulder.

"Hochstetter is using Pierre to try to break us André."

"I know Louis, I know. What are we gonna do? We can't let him die! He let himself get captured so we could get back safely!"

LeBeau nodded sadly. "Oui." He sent a silent message to his English comrade. _Pierre do not give up! Please endure mon ami! For our sake, please, do not give up!_

The Frenchman's silent pleadings were interrupted by Wilson, who called out to them from the now open door of the Colonel's quarters. "C'mon Louis. Andrew, you and Richard too. The Colonel wants you in his quarters on the double."

They stared at each other in shocked surprise, as that could mean only one thing. They were going to rescue Newkirk!


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15 – The Courage of Despair**

Difficult though it was, Jo reminded herself that she had to keep quiet if she was to hear the rest of Louis' tale without being found out. Her mind whirled crazily in shock and confusion and she nearly stuffed her entire hand into her mouth trying to choke back the sobs. She simply could not believe Louis' words. It all sounded so…so impossible, so unreal, so dangerous. How could mere prisoners carry out such outlandish activities right under the Germans' noses? How could it possibly be true? She knew with all her heart that Louis was not a liar. She also knew that Peter implicitly trusted Louis with his life and that Louis trusted Peter with his. She had always wondered how such a level of trust developed between the two and now she knew why. How Peter must have suffered at the hands of that deranged Gestapo Major! No wonder he nearly died seven years ago! She marveled at how Peter had kept these things locked within his heart and suddenly understood why her husband would jolt awake in such extreme distress during the night. She dropped her head into her hands as she sought to digest what she had heard.

* * *

LeBeau paused in his narrative to wipe his eyes. The anxiety, stress and uncertainty of the past few days coupled with the still raw, painful memories of seven years ago finally caught up with him and he ended up breaking down. Hogan leaned over to wrap an arm around his distraught friend's shoulders. When he finally calmed down enough to speak, he raised his eyes to both Hogan and Roberts.

"I…I must apologize gentlemen. The memories are just...so overwhelming." He turned to Hogan, "Mon Colonel, we were so frightened! We were so afraid Pierre would die!"

Hogan nodded sympathetically, "I know Louis. I felt the same way." The General didn't bother to correct LeBeau repeatedly calling him 'Colonel' as he picked up the Frenchman's story and resumed telling Roberts what transpired that fateful day seven years ago.

LeBeau, Carter and Baker stood just outside the Colonel's quarters as Klink and Schultz exited. The Kommandant gave them all a short, nervous nod as he passed them; both he and Schultz looked grimly determined as they left the barracks. Hogan's men brimmed with curiosity as they piled through the door.

All three unitedly groaned in dismay at the sight of their Colonel sitting at his desk, his jaw thickly bandaged. LeBeau reached to gently grasp his CO's arm. "Colonel! Should you not be resting?"

Wilson stepped forward, shaking his head. "I already tried Louis but don't worry. The Colonel and I made a deal."

Hogan looked at each of them in turn before he spoke. "I'll rest when Peter is out of Hochstetter's hands, fellas, not before."

They drew closer and Baker asked, "What do you have in mind sir?"

The Colonel gestured to Carter, addressing him first. "Andrew, wait a scant few minutes after the bridge blows then get on the switchboard and call Klink's office. Tell him you're a high ranking officer, let's say a Colonel, uh, Colonel Schröder, calling from Gestapo Headquarters Berlin. Demand to speak to Hochstetter at once. I want you to order him to take a couple of his guards and go investigate the reported destruction of the Adolph Hitler bridge. Hochstetter always jumps to obey his superiors, so getting him out of the camp for a while shouldn't be a problem."

"Right sir!" Carter nodded enthusiastically.

Hogan looked to LeBeau and Baker next. "As soon as the bridge blows, I want you two to hit the tunnels and quickly get to each of the other barracks. I want you to inform each barracks chief that my orders are to disarm and take custody of the SS guard standing outside their door. I don't care how they do it, but make it clear that they are not to spook the guard holding Peter, got it? Tell the chief to choose one of our guys to put on the guard's uniform and take his place outside the door. Tell them to wrap their faces and keep their heads down. With the weather being as cold as it is, recognition shouldn't be a problem. Andrew, when you finish sending Hochstetter on his way, join Louis and Richard and help them spread the word. Report back to me as soon as you can. Any questions?"

Louis raised his hand.

"Yes Louis?"

"Colonel, the Kommandant gave us a strange look as he left your quarters. What does he know about your plans?"

"Everything. Well not quite everything, I didn't tell him about our operation, of course. I told him we could take care of the SS guards if we could count on his cooperation."

"What exactly does that mean sir?" asked Baker.

"As soon as Peter is released and safely in our hands, Klink's guards are going to collect the SS men we are holding and put them in the cooler."

All three men's jaws dropped at that. Wilson spoke up, "That was my reaction too fellas. But I was here and heard it with my own ears. Klink agreed to it."

Carter shook his head in disbelief. "Wow Colonel!"

Hogan smiled wanly and then winced. "Let's just say I made him an offer he couldn't refuse. Desperate times call for desperate measures." He got up slowly and moved from his desk to sit down on his bottom bunk. "Okay fellas. I promised Joe I would rest for the 15 minutes we have before the bridge blows so if you don't mind..."

"Of course Colonel!" LeBeau took Carter and Baker each by the arm and escorted them out the door. "We will be waiting for you."

Hogan nodded as he stretched out on the bunk and closed his eyes. Wilson followed them out and turned back before he closed the door. "I'll return in 15 minutes sir."

The Colonel grunted an acknowledgment and Wilson closed the door.

The fifteen minutes passed achingly slow for the men in the common room, yet not nearly so for the Colonel. It seemed to him that he had just closed his eyes when Wilson came back in to rouse him.

"Colonel? Colonel, it's nearly time."

"Oh…okay Joe. I'm coming." Hogan got up and quickly pulled himself together. He strode out into the common room, followed by Wilson. "Let's go." His men turned to him expectantly as he entered the room and then gathered around him as he approached the window. LeBeau pressed a fresh cup of coffee into his hand and he sipped it gratefully. "Thanks Louis."

"You are welcome mon Colonel."

The Colonel reached out and pulled Carter close. "Andrew, if there ever was a time we need your explosives to detonate exactly on schedule, this is it. Peter's life depends on it."

Carter sucked in a nervous breath. "Colonel, those charges will blow on time or my name isn't Andrew J. Carter!"

Hogan nodded tersely and looked at his watch. "Well, we should know soon enough."

* * *

Newkirk felt the concussion wave undulate the ground beneath his feet a few moments before he heard the distant rumble. He briefly closed his eyes in relief, trying not to betray himself to the guard. _Good __on __ya __Andrew!_

Inside the barracks, Hogan nodded as he re-checked his watch. He clapped his demolitions expert on the back. "Right on time Andrew J. Carter! Now let's get this ball rolling!" He gestured to LeBeau and Baker, who had been standing beside them. "You all know what to do."

All three nodded and headed down into the tunnel.

Hochstetter glared about wildly as he too felt the ground tremble beneath his feet.

"Was war das?" He stalked over to stare Newkirk directly in his eyes. "_Was-war-das?_" he growled, bringing his face even closer to the freezing Englishman.

Newkirk knew that it was now time to make his confession but both his mind and body betrayed him. He couldn't transmit a coherent thought nor stop his teeth from chattering long enough to even speak the words. He couldn't even raise his arm to point at himself and only succeeded in emitting several desperate, shaky, inarticulate grunts.

Hochstetter jammed the muzzle of his Luger against Newkirk's temple and shouted, "You will tell me what I want to know Englander, if it is the last thing you do!"

Newkirk winced and closed his eyes, awaiting the inevitable. He dared to reopen them as he heard Schultz' breathless voice approaching.

"Herr Major! Herr Major! You are wanted urgently on the phone Herr Major!"

Hochstetter didn't answer and Schultz dared to prod him. "Please Herr Major!" The German guard glanced anxiously at Newkirk and tried again. "Gestapo Headquarters in Berlin, Herr Major!"

Schultz' last phrase finally moved Hochstetter, ever the obedient soldier. He removed the gun from Newkirk's head and leaned in to whisper, "This is not over Englander!" He then stomped off to the Kommandatur.

Newkirk sagged in confused relief and caught Schultz' eye with what he hoped was a look of gratitude. The German guard nodded slightly and then jumped at Hochstetter's shout.

"Sergeant! Come here, schnell!"

"At once Herr Major!" Schultz scuttled off as fast as he could.

A few minutes later, Hochstetter pounded back down the steps of the Kommandatur and gestured hysterically to the two SS guards manning the doors to Barracks Two and Three. "You two! Come with me! Schnell dummkopfs! We have been ordered to the Adolph Hitler bridge...or what is left of it!" He yelled at the remaining guards that were within earshot. "Pass the word to stay at your posts until I return!"

Hochstetter then leaned in to speak directly to the guard responsible for holding Newkirk. "If you have to shoot the Englander while I am gone, do not await my return. You are to proceed with the liquidation immediately!"

The guard saluted, "Jawohl Major! All will be carried out as per your orders!"

The brief exchange between Hochstetter and the guard sliced through Newkirk's lethargy and his eyes widened in raw, stark fear for his friends. He had no way to warn them. He somehow willed his convulsing body to rise a bit straighter. He simply had to stand fast for the sake of his friends and swore to endure for as long as it took. There was no alternative.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16 - The Beginning of the End**

As soon as Hochstetter's car roared out the gate, Hogan's plan began in earnest. LeBeau and Baker, with Carter's eventual help, passed the Colonel's orders to all the Barracks Chiefs. Afterwards, all three men returned to Barracks Two via the tunnel, where they were greeted by their anxious CO.

"All set fellas?"

"Yes sir!" answered Baker. "They'll begin with the barracks at the rear of the camp and work towards the front so they won't alert the guard holding Peter. A runner will be sent via the tunnel to confirm when all the SS guards have been seized."

Hogan nodded, "Good! Timing is critical. If we're off by even one second, Peter is dead."

Carter looked at his CO. "We made sure that all the guys understood that, sir. They won't let us down!"

Hogan checked his watch as H-hour approached. "All right gentlemen. It starts...now!"

LeBeau and Carter moved to keep a surreptitious watch at the door, while Baker helped Wilson gather as many blankets as they could find. Wilson took a break to peer anxiously out the window. Hogan walked over and asked, "How's he doing?"

Wilson shook his head sadly. "Not good Colonel. Not good at all. We've got to get him inside as soon as possible!"

The Colonel called LeBeau and Carter to join him near the window, posting Goldman back at the door with instructions to inform him of any change at all in the SS guard's behavior. Hogan worried that the guard would shoot Newkirk simply out of sheer cruelty and/or boredom. The SS were not known for their patience or compassion.

The men loitered nervously at the window, hoping and praying that the Colonel's plan worked. Time crawled by at a snail's pace as they awaited the runner's arrival, with Wilson spending the time keeping a critical eye on Newkirk. Finally they heard the tapping noise that signaled someone wanted to come topsides. They all rushed to the bunk covering the tunnel entrance and Hogan slapped the mechanism impatiently. Sergeant Hansen from Barracks Four quickly climbed up.

"Colonel?" He stopped to catch his breath, as he had run at top speed all the way. "Sorry sir. All of the SS guards have been neutralized, except for the one holding Newkirk. Our men have taken their places and await your orders."

A collective sigh of relief arose from the group. The Colonel took Hansen by the arm and sat him at the table. The rest of the command crew gathered round. "Okay Hansen, here's what I want you to tell them." He leaned in to outline his orders and clapped Hansen on the back when he finished. "Got all that Sergeant?"

Hansen nodded and grinned. "Yes sir! Got it!"

"Good man! Now get going! I can only give you ten minutes max to spread the word, we've got to get Peter released _now_." Wilson caught the Colonel's eye and nodded worriedly.

"You can depend on me Colonel! Ten minutes will be more than enough time!" Hansen jumped down into the tunnel and immediately disappeared.

Hogan next turned to Baker. "Richard, get down there and call the Kommandant. Tell him to get his men ready!"

"Right sir!" Baker disappeared down the ladder as well.

The Colonel turned to LeBeau, Carter and Wilson. "Okay fellas! Pray this works for Peter's sake." He sent a silent message to his long-suffering English Corporal. _Just __ten __more __minutes __Peter! __Hang __on __for __ten __more __minutes! __We__'__re __coming __to __rescue __you! _Hogan, LeBeau and Carter used the time to arm themselves with handguns, which they stuffed into their pockets.

Finally, the approach of several pairs of boots sounded outside the window as the ersatz SS guards from Barracks Four, Five and Six approached the guard holding Newkirk in front of Barracks Two. Hogan and his men listened intently as the guard holding Newkirk shouted angrily at them.

"What are you doing away from your posts?"

"We came to relieve you Scharführer!"

"I do not need relief dummkopfs! You are dismissed! Go back to your posts! What…what…are...you...doing?" There came the brief sound of a scuffle and then the agreed-upon signal.

"Yes you do Fritz! We're relieving you whether you like it or not!"

The Colonel flung the door open and rushed outside just as the now disarmed SS guard deliberately raised his hands above his head in a manner which yanked Newkirk dangerously off balance, causing him to stumble. Hogan brandished his gun in the guard's face and shouted, "Drop the chain if you know what's good for you!" The guard let the chain go and Newkirk fell heavily to his hands and knees. Hogan knelt beside him and kept him from collapsing into the snow.

"Hang on Peter, we've got you. Hang on…just hang on, please!. Joe's coming, he'll be here in a second," the Colonel murmured quietly as he kept a tight grip on Newkirk. One of the SS impersonators signaled 'all clear' and opened the barracks door to enable Wilson, Carter and LeBeau to dash out.

As Hogan moved to release Newkirk into Wilson's care the Englishman somehow managed to grab his arm, squeezing it tightly. Hogan and the other men stopped in shock as they noticed Newkirk's blue lips barely moving; they simply couldn't believe that he was actually trying to speak! "C-C-Col…nel?….Hochs…H-H-Hochstet…stet…er…."

Hogan leaned in closer to understand the agonized, nearly inaudible whispers. "Yes Peter? Hochstetter?"

Newkirk managed to squeeze his CO's arm again to confirm and tried to continue. "Li-li-liqui…liquid-" He took a shuddering breath and finally got the entire word out. "Liqui…date…."

"Liquidate? What do you mean…?" Hogan paused and then leaned in even closer, until he was face to face with Newkirk. Horrified, he suddenly grasped what Newkirk was trying to tell him. "The camp? Hochstetter is going to liquidate the camp?"

Newkirk squeezed Hogan's arm so hard it hurt. The Colonel gently covered his Corporal's frozen hand with his own and then gestured to Wilson. "Joe, take good care of him."

Wilson nodded curtly and crouched down beside the violently shaking, semi-conscious Englishman. In spite of his anguish over Newkirk's condition, the Colonel stood up and back to give Wilson room to work. He looked over his shoulder as Klink approached with Schultz and Langenscheidt and moved over to speak with them.

The Kommandant stared at Newkirk as he lay quaking and unresponsive in Wilson's arms. "Will he be all right?"

Hogan shook his head. "We don't know yet. We've got to get him to the infirmary where Joe can get him warmed up." He looked directly at the Kommandant. "Have you begun rounding up the SS men?"

Klink nodded. "Yes, as soon as your men disarmed this guard," he gestured to the sullen SS man standing before them, "I personally ordered several squads to collect and escort them all to the cooler." The Kommandant noted with a bit of a shock that Hogan and his men all held handguns; he then recalled the agreement he had made with the American Colonel and decided that perhaps Schultz' response of 'seeing and knowing nothing' had some merit after all.

"Thanks for taking care of that Kommandant. I really appreciate your men looking the other way during our little operation. You don't know how much this means to me." Hogan spoke distractedly, his eyes drifting back to his injured Corporal.

Klink followed Hogan's worried gaze to the intense drama playing out before them. "I think I do Colonel. I think I do."

Hogan suddenly grasped Klink's arm and pulled him further aside. "Kommandant, Peter told me that Hochstetter intends to liquidate this camp."

Klink's eyes widened as Hogan's words sank in. "Liquidate? My camp? By whose authority?"

Hogan smirked, "Since when does the Gestapo need authorization? Especially now with their world collapsing around them. All they want is to take as many down with them as they can." He took Klink's arm to guide him back to the Kommandatur. "We need to discuss how we're going to handle the Major upon his return."

Klink stopped suddenly and gestured back to the barracks. "But…Hogan…what about Newkirk?"

Hogan sighed. "Kommandant, Joe will do all he can for him. As much as it pains me to say this, dealing with Hochstetter is just as critical a priority right now." He glanced back at the knot of men crouched beside the stricken RAF Corporal. "My men are the best at what they do and I trust them implicitly. Peter is in good hands."

Klink looked searchingly at Hogan and then slowly nodded. He ordered Schultz and Langenscheidt to stay and offer their assistance before he accompanied Hogan back to his office.

Wilson had begun working on Newkirk the moment Colonel Hogan stood up and moved away. The medic had had the presence of mind to grab someone's wool stocking cap on his way out the door and he quickly slipped it onto Newkirk's head, trying to preserve what modicum of body heat that still existed. He motioned frantically to Carter and LeBeau as Baker ran out the door with Newkirk's greatcoat and several blankets in hand. Wilson got to his feet and grabbed the articles from Baker.

"Richard, Andrew, help me get him to his feet! Louis, keep him awake! Do whatever you have to do! Just don't let him slip away! We don't need to lose him now!"

LeBeau swallowed hard and positioned himself right in Newkirk's face once they had him semi-upright. The Englishman's eyes were half-open, raw agony radiating from his puffy, blue-tinged face. "Pierre! Pierre! Wake up mon ami! Please wake up! Now is not the time to sleep! Écoutez!" He reached up to lightly slap Newkirk on both sides of his face. The Englishman did not respond. His eyes rolled back and then closed as his head flopped to the side. LeBeau glanced at Wilson, who nodded grimly. _Please __forgive __me __mon __ami!_ LeBeau slapped Newkirk as hard as he could, once, then again. Newkirk recoiled as he awoke somewhat and feebly tried to retaliate. _Oui! __Oui! __Fight __back! __Fight __for __your __life __Pierre! __Do __not __give __in!_

Wilson stepped in to help support Newkirk and grimaced as his hand accidentally brushed against the icy metal of the manacle locked around the Englishman's neck. "For God's sake, get these friggin' chains off of him!" he shouted in frustration.

LeBeau turned away from his friend to punch his gun deep into the SS guard's gut and demand he hand over the keys to the chains. The guard, seeing the unbridled rage in the Frenchman's eyes, realized he meant business and immediately complied. LeBeau handed him off to Schultz and Langenscheidt, who marched the man off to the cooler at gunpoint. LeBeau made quick work of unlocking the manacles, beginning with the heavy collar around Newkirk's neck. He angrily threw the chains aside and helped Carter and Baker support their English friend. They kept their grip firm yet gentle, trying not to aggravate Newkirk's injuries.

Wilson wrapped all the blankets around Newkirk and then buttoned the greatcoat over them. Newkirk slumped into his friends' arms and Wilson turned to Baker. "Richard, go back to the barracks, grab the rest of the blankets and meet us in the infirmary!"

Baker nodded and took off. LeBeau took Newkirk's arm and helped Carter and Wilson half-carry, half-drag him to the infirmary.

Wilson kept up a litany of instructions as they hurried across the compound. "Keep him awake Louis! I don't care what it takes, just don't let him slip into unconsciousness. He'll die."

LeBeau put his face next to Newkirk's frozen cheek and whispered fiercely into his ear. "You will not fall asleep mon ami! Fight it Pierre! Do not give in…do not give in…" he kept repeating his last phrase as a mantra and punctuated it with intermittent slaps to the face, desperate to keep the Englishman from sinking into a fatal sleep. "Please forgive me Pierre."

"S-so c-c-cold…..l-l-let me…g-go….t-t-tired. S-so…t-tired…" his garbled whispers trailed off.

"No! We will not let you go! You will live Pierre! You will! Come mon ami, let me help you." They struggled up the steps to the infirmary and Newkirk collapsed onto a cot where he lay on his side, shaking uncontrollably.

Baker ran in with his arms laden with more blankets as LeBeau stood next to the cot, looking down sadly at his friend. He had never in his life felt so helpless. He put his hand on Wilson's shoulder and asked, "Now what Joe? What do you need me to do?"

Wilson didn't look up as he and Carter frantically wrapped additional blankets around the shuddering Newkirk. "We need to warm him from the inside if he's going to survive Louis."

"How Joe? Hot tea?"

"No!" Wilson put his hand palm out towards the Frenchman and looked at him. "No! Nothing warmer than barely tepid. Anything hot or even warm will cause his heart to seize and we'll lose him for sure!"

"Mon Dieu!" whispered LeBeau. "I will bring my supplies here to the infirmary so you can direct me, oui?"

Wilson returned his attention to his patient. He nodded tightly. "You do that Louis. And hurry!"


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17 - Evil for Evil**

As soon as LeBeau left, Wilson bent down to try to inspect Newkirk's swollen, bruised face. It proved difficult as his patient still shivered and shook uncontrollably. Wilson gestured to Carter and Baker. "Fellas, I need you to try to hold Peter as still as possible so I can give him a thorough examination."

He directed Carter to kneel on one side of the cot and Baker on the other; together they slowly turned Newkirk onto his back and held him as still as possible. Wilson nodded and then pulled the wool cap off of Newkirk's head to gently explore his scalp for lacerations and/or contusions. Satisfied that the Corporal didn't have a head injury, he replaced the cap and pulled the blankets up higher, snugging them around Newkirk's icy face to provide more warmth. He then reached within the cocoon of blankets to gently palpate Newkirk's body for additional injuries. The semi-conscious Englishman groaned surprisingly loud as Wilson pressed his rib cage.

Carter startled when he heard his friend cry out in pain and asked, "How bad is it, Joe?"

"They're just badly bruised Andrew, not broken," Wilson reassured him. "Please keep him as still as you can. I'm almost finished."

Hogan was standing at the window in Klink's office and he sighed to himself as he watched LeBeau race across the compound on his way to the barracks. He said another silent prayer for his English Corporal before he turned to face the Kommandant, who had just rung off from calling his personal physician.

"I am sorry Hogan. Dr. Zimmermann refuses to come to the camp. He says it is far too dangerous to travel and unfortunately I cannot say that I disagree with him. The Allied planes destroy everything they see on the roads night and day."

"Thanks anyway for trying Kommandant." The American Colonel began pacing. One particular aspect of Hochstetter's plan continued to puzzle him and he voiced his concerns to Klink. "Hochstetter can't be under formal orders; he must be acting on his own. He doesn't have enough men with him to liquidate this entire camp, unless…" he trailed off as he came to a sudden realization.

"Unless what, Colonel?" This entire episode had Klink skidding too close to the edge of panic and he literally jumped at the American officer's words.

"Unless he's counting on you to order your men to help him."

Klink was genuinely shocked. "Why would he do that?"

"For starters, because he's a bully and he believes you'll quickly cave in to his threats. I mean, it's happened in the past hasn't it?"

Klink gasped and rose to face Hogan. "Yes but I have never agreed to kill at his command! And I do not intend to start now! Besides, what could my men possibly do?"

"They could keep the prisoners secured inside the barracks until it was time."

"Time?" gulped Klink. "Time for what?"

Hogan turned back to stare out the window and after a few moments, he appeared to nod at someone outside. He shrugged into his heavy coat and gestured for the Kommandant to do the same. "Come with me and I'll show you."

Klink hurried to get his coat on and follow Hogan. "I don't understand…"

"You will." Hogan's face was grim as he led Klink to the rear of the last truck in the convoy which had ferried the SS men into the camp. Two of Hogan's men, still disguised as SS guards, dropped the tailgate and lifted the canvas tarp cover to reveal several fully loaded MG-42s mounted on sturdy tripods. Open boxes of ammunition belts were stacked at the front of the truck bed, ready for use.

Hogan gestured angrily at the guns and glared at Klink, who blanched at the overwhelming proof of Hochstetter's intentions. The Kommandant had just opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by the distant drone of an approaching car.

_Guess __our __boys __aren__'__t __in __the __air __right __now __since __Hochstetter__'__s __obviously __on __his __way __back_, mused Hogan as he ordered his men off the truck and back to their posts. They quickly put everything in its original order before they left. Hogan then turned back to address Klink. "This is it Kommandant! Call your men and let's get over to the barracks!"

Klink swallowed hard and shouted for Schultz and Langenscheidt to join them. All four men hurried to enter Barracks Two, with Hogan pausing outside to give last-minute instructions to his man posing as the guard who had previously held Newkirk in custody. They slammed the barracks door shut and awaited Hochstetter's return.

Klink glanced around at the men inside the barracks. LeBeau had left several minutes earlier to return to the infirmary; Baker and Carter were still in the infirmary, as they had remained there after Newkirk was taken in. The Kommandant noticed that all the remaining prisoners were armed with handguns and he idly wondered why he was still surprised. He took a deep breath and tried to bolster his courage as best he could as Hochstetter's car drove into camp.

* * *

It seemed like an eternity to Wilson, Carter and Baker before LeBeau returned, his arms laden with supplies. Wilson spoke tautly, without turning away from his patient. "Louis, I need a basin of barely lukewarm water, some mild soap, a soft cloth and some bandages. We need to get these wounds cleaned and dressed."

"Oui!" LeBeau nodded and jumped to obey Wilson's request. He returned in a few minutes with the requested items and Wilson parceled out duties to each of them. Carter held the basin of water near whilst Baker kept a firm grip on the still shaking Newkirk. LeBeau's task was to hand over the bandages as he called for them.

Wilson reached down to pull the blankets aside in order to access Newkirk's injuries. In addition to the damage to his battered face, he had numerous cuts, bruises and abrasions on his torso. Wilson proceeded gently, mindful of the Englishman's badly bruised ribs and abdomen. He muttered a few curses under his breath as he worked; it was obvious that the SS had given him a thorough going over.

* * *

The men inside Barracks Two listened anxiously as the sound of car doors slamming shut echoed across the compound. Upon exiting his car, Hochstetter had immediately noticed the absence of the Englishman and he ran to the SS guard standing in front of the barracks, yelling at the top of his lungs. "What has happened to the Englander? Did you have to shoot him? Where is he? Why have you not proceeded with the liquidation?" The guard stood at attention but remained silent. Hochstetter stalked up to him and shouted, "Answer me dummkopf! What has happened?"

Klink opened the barracks door and strode outside with Schultz and Langenscheidt behind him. Hochstetter marched up to him and shouted, "You will order your men to fall out under my command! They are to follow my orders to the letter! Do you hear me Klink?"

The Kommandant drew himself up nervously. "Yes I hear you Major, but I will not allow my men under your command. You have no authority regarding Luftstalag personnel."

Hochstetter stood silent, momentarily dumbfounded by Klink's refusal to cave in to his tirade. "What? Have you forgotten who you are dealing with Klink? The Gestapo has authority over all branches of the Wehrmacht! We answer to no one but Reichsführer Himmler! Do you wish to answer to the Reichsführer as well, Klink?"

"N-No...Major...but I cannot allow you to carry out a liquidation of this camp!"

Hochstetter snorted, "How did you find out about that Klink? I suppose it does not matter. Yet you dare to defy me?" He gestured to the SS guard still standing silently at attention before him. "You, dummkopf, go gather the rest of the squad and bring them to me here!"

The guard saluted and left. Hochstetter turned to head to Klink's office. Klink and his two men stepped in to block Hochstetter's path. The two authentic SS guards with Hochstetter raised their weapons menacingly.

Hochstetter screamed, "Get out of my way Klink! I need to use your phone!"

Klink's voice quavered as he spoke. "I'm afraid I cannot allow that Major."

Hochstetter stared at the Kommandant in pure astonishment, which quickly gave way to rage. "You? You cannot allow what? Who do you think you are?" he roared.

"I am the Kommandant of this camp Major!"

Hochstetter shook his head, wondering mightily where Klink had finally found the courage to grow a backbone. The timing certainly wasn't to his advantage though. He heard the rest of his SS squad approaching and smiled in triumph.

"You men! Arrest Kommandant Klink and his two men!"

Instead of arresting the camp Kommandant as ordered, the group of SS guards formed a tight circle around Hochstetter and the two guards with him, rifles cocked and ready. They all brought their rifles up in unison and pointed them at the Gestapo Major.

Hochstetter's eyes widened in shock and incomprehension. "What are you doing dummkopfs? I ordered you to arrest Klink and his men! You will obey my order!" The men did not obey; on the contrary, three of them stepped out of formation to forcibly disarm the Major and the two guards with him.

Hogan came out of the barracks door and stepped forward. "It's over Major. Give it up."

"Nein! We will never give up. As I told your English trash, the world will never forget that we are the Master Race!" Hochstetter looked around arrogantly. "By the way where is he? Dead I hope?"

Hogan leaned into Hochstetter's face and stared him down, speaking through teeth clenched in rage. "I swear to you Hochstetter, if Newkirk dies, I will not be responsible for the actions of my men. _If_ you manage to survive, at the very least I'll ensure that you and your men are tried by a military tribunal for his murder."

Hochstetter gave Hogan a glare of pure hatred and then abruptly spat in his face. The American Colonel automatically replied with a solid roundhouse to the chin. Hochstetter collapsed and Klink gestured to Schultz and Langenscheidt. "Take him to the cooler and put him in solitary! He and all the SS men are to stay in the cooler until the arrival of..." Klink nearly said 'until the arrival of the American Army' but caught himself in time and instead said, "until further notice!"

Schultz called over several privates and together with them, he and Langenscheidt hauled the unconscious Gestapo Major to the cooler. Hogan's men herded the last two SS guards behind them at gunpoint and headed to the cooler as well.

Suddenly ashamed of his action, Hogan turned to Klink. "I, I'm sorry Kommandant. I shouldn't have done that. I didn't think, I just reacted."

Klink shook his head in amazement and chuckled to himself as he handed Hogan a handkerchief. "Why apologize Hogan? I've been wanting to do that myself for years. As a matter of fact, I wish _I __had_ done it."

"I would've paid real money to see that Kommandant!" Hogan wiped his face, then came to attention and saluted Klink, who replied in kind. "If you'll excuse me Kommandant, I need to go check on Newkirk."

"By all means. Please keep me informed." Klink then turned and headed up the steps to his office as Hogan ran to the infirmary.

* * *

Jo leaned heavily against the wall, seeking to ease the tension she felt, as well as to give her aching legs a rest. She had begun to feel numbly overwhelmed quite some time back as the unrelenting, painful details of Peter's ordeal kept piling onto her. She wondered now if she even really knew him. It seemed that there were two Peter Newkirks: the one she knew as a husband and father, and this other man who had endured more adversity in a few short years than most people had within an entire lifetime. It proved a double shock, as she had just recently found out new and disturbing details of he and Mavis' horrendous childhood. And now to learn of this? It was nearly too much for her and she seriously thought about retreating back to the waiting room. She took a tentative step away and then looked back. No, she just couldn't. Not now. She had come this far and needed to hear the entire story if at all possible. She again nudged the door open to the barest sliver and leaned in to listen as the General continued to speak.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18 - The Endurance of Fatigue**

Hogan ran through the door and skidded to a halt at Wilson's side. He reached for Wilson's arm, without taking his eyes off of Newkirk. "Joe?" he whispered.

Wilson shook his head as he tucked another blanket around Newkirk. "Colonel, we've cleaned and bandaged his wounds but we're gonna need more help if he's to survive the hypothermia. Is there any way we can get in touch with Doctor Hoffman?"

Hogan cursed himself for this oversight, angry for not thinking of that earlier whilst he was in Klink's office. He had been far too preoccupied with planning Hochstetter's arrest. The Colonel grabbed Baker's arm and asked him to contact Nightingale.

Baker jumped up and rushed towards the door. "I'm on it Colonel!"

Hogan called after Baker, who was already halfway out the door. "I'm coming with you Richard. Andrew?" He beckoned to Carter to accompany him and then turned back to Wilson. "Joe, we'll be back as soon as we can. You and Louis do your best until then."

Wilson nodded tightly. "Make it soon sir. We don't have much time." Hogan left with Carter in tow and Wilson reached back within the blankets to re-check Newkirk's heartbeat. He sighed and swiped his hand across his face nervously.

LeBeau, concerned by the medic's reaction, asked, "What is it Joe?"

"There's a very slight irregularity to his heartbeat. That's not a good sign and I don't know what to do about it. I'm hoping that Doctor Hoffman will have some advice for us."

LeBeau, temporarily at a loss for what he could do to help, sat down beside the cot and leaned down to speak to Newkirk in a low yet insistent voice, "Stay with us mon ami. Please do not give up. We are not giving up. Colonel Hogan is contacting Doctor Hoffman."

Newkirk barely clung to a semblance of consciousness, somehow aware that once he gave in to the numb, soul killing fatigue that so soothingly beckoned, he would not be able to return. Still, he found it difficult, so very difficult, to keep from closing his eyes and peacefully drifting away. He shifted his head to meet LeBeau's eyes with his own barely open ones. His lips moved and LeBeau leaned down even closer in order to hear the tortured whisper.

"L-L-Louis…..? Is…th-that…y-y-you…lil' mate? E-Every..every…one…s-safe? Is…is…the Gov…all..right?"

LeBeau replied, "Yes mon ami. We are all safe and well, thanks to you. Le Colonel is fine, Joe patched him up. That Gestapo bâtard Hochstetter and his SS men are in the cooler. Please do not concern yourself with that right now." He reached over to gently lay his hand on his friend's forehead. "Do not worry about us Pierre, concentrate on yourself."

Newkirk sighed in relief. "Th-thank God. I-I'm...s-so...t-t-tired...Louis...can't...f-f-fight...it...," he swallowed hard. "Pl-please...let...m-me...go..."

"No mon ami...no. I will not let you go." He gently smoothed Peter's hair from off his forehead. "You must promise to hang on. Do not give in to it Pierre. Please, do not give in."

Newkirk struggled to latch onto the determined certainty in LeBeau's voice. "I-I'm...tryin'...Louis..."

"That is all I can ask Pierre. I will be right here mon ami." LeBeau kept his hand on Newkirk's forehead. "I will be right here. Do not worry." The Frenchman silently prayed for strength, both for himself and for Newkirk, as they waited.

Wilson approached and crouched down beside the cot. "Louis, can you make some simple broth or soup? He hasn't eaten for some time and he desperately needs nourishment. Please make sure it's just barely lukewarm. That's very important right now, especially with his heartbeat being the way it is."

"Oui Joe. Will you please stay with mon ami while I am gone?"

Wilson nodded and took the seat the Frenchman had just vacated. "Absolutely Louis. I'll be right here at his side."

"Merci Joe."

Wilson took the opportunity to give Newkirk another quick onceover. The Englishman still shook uncontrollably but the tremors seemed to be easing somewhat. The multiple layers of blankets provided a bit of external warming but it was too slow. His body core needed to be warmed if he was to even have a chance at recovery.

LeBeau returned with a mug of tepid clear broth, which he handed to Wilson. The medic gestured for the Frenchman to gently lift and stabilize Newkirk's head so he could take the broth. LeBeau spoke gently to Newkirk as he did so, "Pierre? Pierre, we have some broth for you. Please drink as much as you can mon ami. You need to eat so you can build your strength. Please mon ami." He struggled a bit as Newkirk turned his head away at first. "Pierre! Come mon ami, please drink this." Newkirk finally relented and Wilson carefully brought the mug up to his trembling lips.

"C'mon Peter…drink it all if you can. You need it."

Newkirk responded to the urgency in his friends' voices and slowly sipped at the broth until the mug was empty. LeBeau gently dabbed at his English friend's lips with a soft cloth and then lowered his head back down onto the pillow. "Bien fait Pierre! I hope it will make you feel better mon ami."

"T-ta…m-m-mates…." His eyes suddenly rolled closed, panicking both Wilson and LeBeau.

"Peter! Open your eyes!" "Pierre! Pierre! Écoutez! You must stay awake mon ami!"

Startled by their outbursts, Newkirk's eyes slowly opened to halfway. "Th-th-this…b-best…c-can…do….f-for…n-now…."

LeBeau gently patted Newkirk's cheek. "That is fine Pierre. I know it is très difficile but please try to stay awake mon ami." He leaned in again, determined to keep his English friend awake with a running conversation, even if it was a bit one-sided.

Wilson had gotten up to take the empty mug over to his desk and stopped when he heard a knock coming from the window. He opened up the shutters and did a double take when he saw Andrew Carter standing outside in front of the window. Carter smiled and gestured to Wilson to open the window. Wilson did so and then called out, "Andrew? What are you doing out there?"

"Here Joe. Take this. I'll explain in a minute." Carter handed him the end of what looked like a very long wire which extended along the ground beside the infirmary building. He then climbed inside via the window and closed the window as well as its shutters. "Okay. Richard and the Colonel should be here by now."

No sooner had he spoken then Hogan and Baker entered, laden with radio equipment. Wilson approached them and asked, "Colonel? What's going on?"

Hogan glanced over at Newkirk as he shed his heavy coat and asked in return, "How is Peter doing?"

"He's holding on, just barely; we were able to get him to drink some broth. Would you please tell me what's going on sir?"

Hogan nodded and finally answered Wilson's question. "Richard and Andrew have wired the radio to transmit and receive remotely so you can speak to Doctor Hoffman directly. You won't have to leave Peter's side."

Wilson sighed with relief. He had been wondering how he was going to handle treating Peter if he had to go all the way down to the radio room to speak with the doctor. "You think of everything don't you Colonel?"

Hogan shook his head and glanced over at Newkirk again. "No Joe. Not everything."

Wilson decided to address the Colonel's obvious feelings of guilt at a later time. Getting Newkirk's body temperature back to normal was the critical concern right now. He went to his desk to grab a pencil and paper while he waited for Baker and Carter to set up and test the remote.

Fortunately, the remote went live immediately and Baker called Nightingale. He hunched intently over the set as he spoke, "Papa Bear calling Nightingale. Papa Bear calling Nightingale. Please come in Nightingale." Finally, after several tries, the receiver crackled to life when a feminine voice answered.

"This is Nightingale, Papa Bear, I read you. Over."

Baker handed the mike to Hogan. "Nightingale this is Papa Bear. Is there any way you can put us in contact with your uncle? We have a medical emergency and urgently need his help."

"He is here with us right now, Papa Bear. It was too dangerous to remain in town, so we have all temporarily relocated to Outpost K."

Hogan nodded in understanding. Outpost K was code for Nightingale's mother's house in the country, approximately 15 kilometers from Stalag 13. "May I speak with him please?"

"Yes Papa Bear. Hold one moment. I will get him."

"Thank you Nightingale." As he waited for Doctor Manfred Hoffman to come to the mike, Hogan glanced over at LeBeau, who continued to speak encouragingly to Newkirk. The Englishman was just barely conscious, his eyes open a mere slit. LeBeau looked up at the Colonel and gave him a wan smile. Hogan nodded at his French Corporal and then his attention returned to the receiver as a male voice now spoke.

"Hello? Papa Bear?"

"Doctor Hoffman? This is Papa Bear. We have a serious medical emergency here at the camp and need your help urgently. It's a matter of life or death."

"Do you wish me to come to the camp?"

"No Doctor. It's far too dangerous. Unfortunately, our flyboys don't discriminate when it comes to travelers on the roads here in Germany. Plus there are too many renegade SS patrols roaming around. I don't want you to put yourself in that position for our sakes. We've rigged up a remote to the infirmary so you can speak directly with Joe Wilson."

"Very well, I will do my utmost to help. Who is the patient?"

Hogan sighed heavily, "It's Peter, doc."

An equally heavy sigh came back across the receiver. "Peter? What has happened to him?"

"Let me pass the mike over to Joe, doc and he'll give you all the details."

"Thank you Papa Bear. I am so very sorry to hear that Peter is again in need of my services."

"As are we all doc. As are we all. Here's Joe." Hogan passed the mike over to Wilson, who filled Doctor Hoffman in on Peter's entire ordeal, from the beginning to the present. When he finished, Manfred had to excuse himself for a moment to regain his composure.

"I am sorry Sergeant Wilson, I let my emotions get the better of me."

Wilson bowed his head slightly. "I understand completely sir."

Manfred quickly pulled himself together for Peter's sake. "Sergeant, we must now act quickly to save Peter's life. He is still conscious you say?"

"Barely sir."

"From what you have told me and from his symptoms, this is far more than just simple hypothermia. You must warm his body core internally if he is to survive, Sergeant. I suggest a warm water enema if at all possible. Do you have the proper equipment or materials you can improvise with?"

"If not we'll get them somehow sir."

"The water must be barely warm, lukewarm would be best. I am sure you are familiar with the process Sergeant but if I may outline the steps I believe it would be for the best."

"By all means sir. I've got pencil and paper ready."

"Good. First you must…" Manfred continued on to list in detail all the steps to the rewarming procedure. He especially emphasized the possible side effects from the sudden warming given Peter's irregular heartbeat and told Wilson exactly what he needed to do in case his patient reacted negatively to the procedure. He again volunteered to come to the camp to personally treat Peter.

"We greatly appreciate your offer sir, but we don't want any harm to come to you. I believe you have given me what I need to begin. May I contact you again should I need further help?"

"By all means Sergeant! I will remain at your complete disposal. Please keep me updated on Peter's condition."

"Yes sir, we'll definitely do that. Thank you sir. Here's Papa Bear." Wilson handed the mike back to Hogan.

"Doc, you don't know how much we appreciate this."

"I desperately wish you would allow me to come help you. I do understand your reasons but..." Manfred paused, and despite the seriousness of the situation couldn't hold back a chuckle. "Papa Bear, he is my nephew after all!"

Hogan had to smile at that. "How could I forget? We'll keep you posted on his condition doc. Thanks again. Papa Bear out."

Wilson looked over his notes and immediately began issuing orders to Carter, Baker and LeBeau. The Colonel, outranked in this instance, moved to stand at the foot of Newkirk's cot to get out of their way as they feverishly gathered and sterilized the equipment needed to perform the internal rewarming.

"Okay fellas! I think we're ready." Wilson gestured to them all to gather round and he took a deep breath before he continued. "I don't need to tell you all that Peter's life depends on the successful completion of this procedure. There's a very good chance that he'll experience some sort of seizure during it. If that happens, _do __not_ lose your concentration. I know it'll be difficult but just do what I tell you and everything should be all right."

The men nodded and looked to their CO, who put his hand on Wilson's shoulder. "You heard him, he's in command here. Now let's help Peter. Joe, tell us what to do!"

Wilson delegated individual responsibilities to each of them and then moved over to Newkirk's cot. Before he began, he looked searchingly at each of them. "Are you ready?" At their nods, he reached down to begin unwrapping his patient's thick shroud of blankets. "All right then. Let's start."

The procedure began smoothly and initially proved uneventful. "So far, so good," murmured Wilson and the men breathed a mental sigh of relief. However, a few moments later their hearts all jumped into their throats when Wilson suddenly cried out, "He's seizing!"

The medic immediately began shouting orders,"Remember Dr. Hoffman's instructions! Try to keep him as still as possible! Louis, try to keep his airway unblocked! Andrew, Richard, keep him as steady as you can without bearing down too hard, remember his injuries!" He looked over at Hogan. "Colonel, keep a firm grip on his head!"

They somehow managed to keep their minds focused on the tasks Wilson assigned them, despite the heartbreaking sight of their English friend jerking violently and uncontrollably. His eyes had rolled back into his head, with only the whites showing. When the seizure finally ended, Newkirk immediately lost consciousness. Wilson looked up briefly, but continued to work steadily to complete the procedure. "We're nearly finished fellas. Keep him on his side until I give you the word." They continued to gently hold Newkirk on his side as Wilson finished up.

After what seemed like an eternity to the four men, Wilson finally finished and sat back. He sighed heavily as he mopped the sweat off his brow and then stood up to grasp his patient's torso.

"Okay fellas. Let's ease him gently onto his back." They did so and then stepped back from the cot as Wilson gently cleansed his patient's body with a damp cloth. The men were overwhelmed with exhaustion exacerbated by grief. Carter sat down heavily on the floor and covered his face with both hands. LeBeau ran to a far corner of the infirmary to break down in private. Hogan and Baker watched dully as Wilson deftly re-wrapped Newkirk within a single layer of blankets.

The Colonel then sent Baker and Carter back to the barracks with strict orders to get as much rest as possible. Carter in particular was clearly traumatized by Newkirk's violent reaction to the warming procedure. Baker wrapped his arm around Carter's shoulder and spoke to him encouragingly as they walked out the door.

LeBeau eventually regained some measure of composure and he re-joined Hogan and Wilson at Newkirk's cot. Hogan looked at him questioningly, his eyebrows raised, and LeBeau murmured, "I am all right mon Colonel. Please let me stay to help Joe take care of Pierre."

At Hogan's nod, Wilson put his hand on the Frenchman's shoulder and spoke, "Louis, I've got five empty hot water bottles in the cabinet beside my desk. Please get them and fill them with lukewarm water. It's very important that the water be only lukewarm, not hot. Understand?"

LeBeau nodded anxiously and set about his task. He then brought them over to Wilson, who took two and handed the other three off to Hogan.

"Thanks Louis, the water temperature feels perfect. Colonel, would you please hold these until I ask for them?"

Hogan moved over to help Wilson position the water bottles around and onto Newkirk's body. Wilson nestled a water bottle underneath each of Newkirk's armpits. Noting Hogan's quizzical glance, he explained. "We've got to get his core temperature stabilized quickly if he's going to survive. This helps, believe me."

They layered the other water bottles onto Newkirk's chest, stomach and groin before they wrapped him in another layer of blankets. Wilson stood back with a satisfied sigh. "There. We've done all we can. It's in God's hands now."

Hogan glanced over at Wilson. "Nothing personal Joe, but I wouldn't have taken you for a religious man."

Wilson, his eyes still on Newkirk, spoke softly. "I really wasn't before I was shot down and sent here. But I am now sir." He looked at Hogan, his eyes full of emotion.

Hogan nodded and clasped Wilson by the shoulder. "We need all the help we can get, that's for sure."

Wilson nodded distractedly and then remembered the Colonel's earlier words. "Sir, I distinctly recall you promised to rest when Peter was out of Hochstetter's hands."

LeBeau chimed in as well, "Oui Colonel! Joe is correct."

Hogan sighed in exasperation as Wilson raised his eyebrows and gestured towards the empty cot next to Newkirk's. "Sir, please? You can grab some sleep on the cot right next to him. I swear I'll wake you if anything happens."

The Colonel grudgingly relented and he stretched out on the cot with his eyes already closed. Wilson covered him with a blanket as they settled in for the long vigil.

* * *

_A/N: The characters of Manfred and Nightingale (aka Astrid) are OCs from my previous story "A Mother's Love" for those of you who have not read it._


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19 – One Moment More**

_Heroism is endurance for one moment more. - George F. Kennan_

Wilson and LeBeau spent the night taking turns watching over Newkirk as he lay unconscious within his cocoon of blankets. They refreshed the lukewarm water bottles several times and on one of those occasions their patient briefly came to as they were re-wrapping him back into his blankets. LeBeau took the opportunity to cajole him into drinking another mug of warm broth. Wilson noted encouragingly that Newkirk's constant shaking had subsided to more of an intermittent tremor. The internal re-warming procedure, painful though it proved to be, had apparently done its job.

However, two things continued to greatly concern Wilson as he checked Newkirk's heartbeat for what seemed like the hundredth time. He frowned at what he again found and gently tapped the sleeping LeBeau on his shoulder.

"Louis?" whispered Wilson. "Louis!"

LeBeau startled awake and nearly fell out of the chair, unaware that he had dozed off. "Joe? Forgive me, I must have fallen asleep. What do you need me to do?"

"Would you please go and get Richard for me? I need to update Doctor Hoffman on Peter's condition." What he didn't say was that he was increasingly concerned about his patient's lingering irregular heartbeat and needed the doctor's guidance.

"Oh oui, oui." LeBeau rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up and move at the same time. He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. "I will do as you ask Joe."

"Thanks Louis!" Wilson also kept his second area of concern to himself for now. Each time he checked Newkirk's heart he also carefully listened to his lungs. The medic didn't like what he heard and desperately hoped and prayed he was wrong, even though his gut told him he wasn't.

There was movement from the adjacent cot as the Colonel flipped his blanket aside and slowly sat up. "Wha-what's going on…? How's Peter doing?"

"Oh Colonel I didn't mean to wake you. I just sent Louis over to the barracks to get Richard. I want to update Doctor Hoffman, as well as…." Wilson paused, unsure how to proceed.

Hogan frowned as he swung his legs down onto the floor. He swiped his hands through his hair, put on his hat and then stared at Wilson. "What's wrong Joe?"

Wilson sighed, "Well sir, he's actually improved quite a bit. The enema and the water bottles seem to be working to slowly stabilize his core temperature but I'm concerned that his heartbeat is still slightly irregular."

"And…?"

Wilson sighed again. Darned if he couldn't hide anything from his commanding officer! "Colonel, I'm…I'm pretty much certain that Peter's beginning to develop pneumonia."

Hogan stiffened and his gaze shot quickly from his medic to his RAF Corporal. "Are you sure, Joe?"

"I'm not one hundred percent sure sir, but each time I check his lungs they sound increasingly congested. It certainly wouldn't be a surprise if he did come down with it, given the exposure, hypothermia and injuries. I'll keep monitoring him for further symptoms. For his sake, I hope I'm wrong."

"Nothing personal, but I hope you're wrong too! He certainly doesn't need that after everything he's already endured." The Colonel slowly stood up and wrapped his arms around himself. He glanced at the door and then looked Wilson in the eyes. "Joe, don't say anything to the guys until you absolutely know for sure. I don't think they're in any shape to absorb more bad news at this point."

"Agreed sir. They've really been put through an emotional wringer with all of this. Especially Andrew and Louis."

"I know." The Colonel stumbled slightly as he stepped towards Wilson, and the medic reached out an arm to steady his CO.

"Whoa sir! How are _you_ feeling? How's your jaw?"

"I'm fine Joe. I did get some sleep, remember?" Hogan gently shook off Wilson's hand. "Really, I'm fine." He looked around, hands on his hips. "Is there any coffee here or do I need to place an order with room service?"

Wilson chuckled and pointed to the stove. "Louis made a pot a couple of hours ago."

"That fresh, huh? Sounds good." As the Colonel moved over to grab a cup, LeBeau and Baker came into the infirmary.

Baker put his hand on Wilson's shoulder. "Louis said you needed me, Joe. What's up?"

"Richard, would you please contact Doctor Hoffman for me? I need to update him on Peter's condition plus I've got a couple of questions for him."

Baker heard something in Wilson's voice that he didn't like. "Is Peter going to be all right? Is something else wrong?"

Wilson looked up sharply and decided to tell Baker something his granny used to call 'bearing false witness', though he preferred to call it medical privilege. "I think he'll be all right eventually Richard. He has a couple of symptoms normal for hypothermia patients that I need to clarify with the doctor."

Baker looked unconvinced but nodded and headed to the radio remote. Wilson joined LeBeau and the Colonel beside Newkirk's cot, where LeBeau once again sat near his friend. After a few minutes, Baker called over to Wilson, "I've got Doctor Hoffman for you Joe!"

"Thanks Richard!" Wilson looked at Hogan and inclined his head slightly. The Colonel nodded in return and called Baker over to where he and LeBeau were gathered beside Newkirk's cot. "C'mon fellas, I want you two to get back to the barracks to get some rest."

Both of them instantly protested, especially LeBeau. Hogan put his hand on his Frenchman's shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "Louis, you've been here the longest. I want you to hit the sack. I want you to tell Andrew that goes for him as well." At their continued reluctance, the Colonel raised his hands. "No, listen to me. I'll be staying right here at Peter's side, along with Joe. Now get going! That's an order!"

Wilson raised his hand to gesture a relieved 'A-OK' for Hogan's eyes only as he began speaking into the mike. The Colonel was a master at diversion, even with his own men. Baker and LeBeau put their coats on and trudged out the door, grumbling under their breath. As soon as the door closed, Hogan sat down beside his English Corporal and waited for Wilson to finish his conversation. Finally, the medic stood up and walked over to Newkirk's bedside. At Hogan's questioning glance, he gestured towards the radio remote.

"I think I shut it down correctly sir. You can check it if you like."

Hogan shook his head. "That's not what I meant Joe. What did Doctor Hoffman say?"

Wilson sighed and scrubbed his hand across his jaw. "Well, as far as the irregular heartbeat goes, he said that it should correct itself as his core temperature continues to approach normal. He said to let him know if it doesn't and he'd come out here to see Peter regardless of the danger."

"I'm not surprised. What about the pneumonia? What did the doc say about that?"

"He said it's extremely probable, given what Peter's been through up to this point. He said to keep checking him for any major changes in his condition, but he expects Peter to come down with a full-blown case of pneumonia."

Hogan let out the breath he had been involuntarily holding and stood up to grasp Wilson by the arm. "What are his chances if he does develop pneumonia?"

Wilson averted his eyes from his CO before he answered. "Not very good, Colonel. I used the last of the penicillin two weeks ago and Doctor Hoffman doesn't have access to any." He looked up at Hogan. "And we both know that London isn't making any more drops."

Hogan sank down into the chair beside Newkirk's cot to gaze worriedly at his RAF Corporal. He spoke to Wilson without turning his head. "Joe, you need to get some sleep. I want you well rested for what lies ahead." He turned and gestured to the cot he had vacated earlier. "I'll be right here. I promise I'll wake you if anything happens with Peter."

Wilson knew his CO was right. He had been through hell working to get Newkirk stabilized and now it appeared that the Englishman's situation was going to get even worse. He plodded over to the cot and eased himself down. "You're right sir. I'm sorry to have to say it, but I believe the worst is yet to come."

The General paused and scrubbed his hand across his face as he looked at his two companions. "Oh God, I remember that conversation like it was only yesterday!"

"I remember as well, mon Colonel. We had just dared to hope that Pierre would recover when the pneumonia began," added LeBeau sadly. He picked up the story from Hogan and continued. "I was in the infirmary that day helping Joe watch over Pierre. It had been four days since we rescued him from Hochstetter..."

LeBeau sat quietly at Newkirk's side when the Englishman suddenly shivered and twisted a bit on the cot, groaning. Concerned, LeBeau laid his hand onto his friend's forehead in an attempt to comfort him, and frowned at the unexpected heat he felt beneath his fingertips. He called Wilson over, "Joe? Pierre's forehead feels much too warm. What does this mean?"

Wilson sighed heavily and hurried over to the cot. He murmured to himself, "I hoped I was wrong but I guess not."

LeBeau caught most of what Wilson said. "Wrong about what, Joe?"

Wilson laid his hand first on Newkirk's forehead and then against his face. He nodded sadly and sighed yet again. He spoke without turning to LeBeau. "Louis, please go get the Colonel, as well as Richard and Andrew."

LeBeau still didn't realize what Wilson was so upset about and asked again, "Joe? What is wrong? He should not be so warm." They had just gotten Newkirk's temperature back to normal and he had thought that his English friend was well onto the road to recovery.

Wilson turned and grasped the Frenchman at his shoulder. "Please Louis. Go get them for me. You'll find out soon enough."

LeBeau nodded and grabbed his coat. Something in Wilson's eyes told him that his English friend wasn't completely over this ordeal and he left the infirmary with an increasing sense of foreboding.

He returned almost immediately with the Colonel and the others right behind him. Hogan's expression was grim as he stood at the foot of Newkirk's cot, his arms wrapped around himself. LeBeau, Carter and Baker crouched nervously alongside the cot, waiting for Wilson to finish checking his patient's pulse. The medic sighed and then looked over at them. "I'm worried about him, fellas. We've got to watch him very carefully for the next few days."

Carter edged closer and grasped Wilson's arm. "What do you mean Joe? He's getting better, isn't he?"

Wilson nodded slowly. "Yes and no, Andrew. You all saw what happened to him. I'm surprised he's doing as well as he is, after everything he's been through."

"It has only been four days Joe," LeBeau commented nervously. "Surely he will recover?"

Wilson sighed and leaned down to place his ear against Newkirk's chest. "I can already hear it." He raised his head and looked at each of them in turn before speaking again. "I'm afraid he's definitely beginning to develop pneumonia."

A collective gasp arose and Wilson continued, "I'm going to keep a close eye on him but I will need all of you to watch him as well and keep me advised of any changes." He outlined the symptoms they needed to note, finishing with, "Peter's life may depend on how quickly we respond to his condition."

Wilson's fears proved true as the next stage of their ordeal began in earnest two days later. LeBeau had just come into the infirmary to take over the watch from Carter when Newkirk nearly choked and began a bout of harsh, wet coughing.

Carter's eyes widened in panic as he called to LeBeau, "What are we supposed to do Louis?"

LeBeau rushed to Newkirk's side and shoved Carter towards the door, "André go get Joe!" Wilson had taken a quick break to update the Colonel on Newkirk's condition. Carter nodded and leaped for the door, shrugging into his coat as he ran.

Soon, Wilson came rushing into the infirmary. "Carter said Peter is in trouble…" He stopped short at the expression on LeBeau's face. "Louis? What's happening?" He looked down at Newkirk, as he tossed on the cot, choking and coughing. _Oh __God, __I __was __right! __It__'__s __already __started!_

LeBeau turned to him, fear in his voice. "Is it the pneumonia Joe?"

Wilson nodded sadly. "I'm afraid so Louis. I was hoping this wouldn't happen. But with his exposure to that freezing cold after being beaten, I guess it was inevitable."

"What can we do to help him?"

"Not as much as I'd like. We used the last of the penicillin two weeks ago. All we've got left is aspirin." Wilson walked over to Newkirk's cot and reached down to check his fever. He shook his head and removed a couple of blankets. "Louis, would you please get me a pan of cool water and a washcloth?"

Two days later, it was again LeBeau's turn to help Wilson with Newkirk. He sat opposite the medic as Wilson tried to alleviate the effects of the Englishman's rising fever.

"God no! He's already becoming cyanotic!" Wilson muttered. He sat beside Peter's cot, gently wiping his patient's hot, flushed face with a cool, wet cloth.

LeBeau, disturbed by the underlying tone of alarm he heard in Wilson's voice, asked, "What does that mean Joe?"

"It means he's not getting enough oxygen. His blood is becoming deoxygenated."

LeBeau moved to Wilson's side. "How can you tell?"

Wilson pointed at Peter's face. "Look at his lips. See that faint bluish tint?" The Frenchman nodded warily. "That's not a good sign Louis. It means we've got to get him to a hospital as soon as possible. Otherwise, he's not going to survive."

"Not survive? Joe it cannot be!" The expression on Wilson's face told him otherwise and LeBeau stiffened in stunned disbelief. It was simply inconceivable that they had come all the way to the end relatively unscathed and now his English friend was going to die!

Wilson put his hand on LeBeau's arm and spoke very softly to him. "Louis, please go get the Colonel." LeBeau jumped up to do so and returned nearly immediately with the Colonel behind him.

Wilson didn't get up from his seat beside Newkirk, and he continued to lave the Englishman's face with cool water as he talked. Hogan stood next to him, his arms wrapped around his torso, as he listened intently to the medic's description of his English Corporal's deteriorating condition. LeBeau stood off to the side, growing increasingly uneasy as he too listened to Wilson's words.

Hogan heard Wilson out and then asked, "Bottom line, Joe?"

Wilson took a deep breath before answering his CO's question. "Sir, the bottom line is that Peter's going to die in less than a week if we don't get him some serious medical care."

Hogan inhaled sharply at the medic's statement. He knew that the situation was critical, but hadn't realized it was already a matter of life or death. "He's gotten worse that quickly?"

Wilson nodded. "Yes sir. Cyanosis is the beginning of the end."

The Colonel's next words took both Wilson and LeBeau completely by surprise. "Then we've got to get him to London!"

LeBeau paused his narrative for a moment and Hogan spoke, "When you came to get me Louis, I knew just by the look on your face that the news was very bad."

"Oui Colonel," agreed LeBeau. "I could not breathe or even think when Joe told me Pierre would not survive if he did not get to hospital."

Hogan nodded. "My stomach tied up in knots as soon as Joe updated me on Peter's condition. I knew then that we had no choice but to get him to England."

"I do not remember ever seeing you so angry Colonel, as you were when London refused to send help for Pierre."

Hogan nodded sadly as LeBeau continued.

The men gathered protectively around Newkirk's cot as the Colonel contacted London to request an emergency transport for their stricken Englishman. LeBeau knelt down and gently took his friend's hand; fortunately, Newkirk had fallen asleep a few minutes earlier, exhausted by yet another bout of coughing.

The Colonel insisted on contacting London himself and put the earphones on, as he didn't want his men to hear both sides of this conversation, just in case. He had just made his request and given a summary of Newkirk's condition along with both Wilson's and Manfred's diagnoses when the men saw their CO's complexion suddenly go deadly pale.

"I have my medical officer right here, he will confirm what I've just told you. My Corporal will die without immediate emergency care!" The Colonel's voice sharpened in anger. "What? Say again?" He took a deep breath to quell the sudden burst of adrenaline. "I respectfully request to speak to General Butler on this matter." As he listened to London's reply, he began literally trembling with rage. "Papa Bear out!" Hogan tore the earphones off his head and threw them across the room. He stared at the floor, his jaw working from side to side. He looked over at his men and ground out a terse comment. "London refuses to send a plane."

LeBeau glanced worriedly around himself. Wilson, Baker and especially Carter were stunned silent. He timidly asked, "Did they say why mon Colonel?"

Hogan paused to bring his breathing back under control before he answered, "Too dangerous."

"For who sir?" Wilson wanted to know.

Hogan snorted angrily, "Apparently everyone except Newkirk!" He got up, pacing in a tight circle as he fought to get his emotions under control. He then walked over to kneel beside LeBeau. He laid his palm gently on Newkirk's chest as the Englishman painfully gasped for breath even in his sleep. The Colonel leaned down and whispered, "I'm asking you to hang on Peter. I know you're tired and sick and hurting. You've been through so much but please, please, hang on just a little longer. I swear to you that we will get you to London. I don't care what it takes, we'll get you to London! Just please hang on." He briefly massaged his Corporal's chest and then stood up. "Joe, please try to..."

Wilson interrupted, "I will Colonel. You know I will. We all will, won't we fellas?" The men nodded and added their heartfelt agreement to the medic's promise.

Hogan nodded curtly and strode out the door. Carter finally broke the extended silence that followed their CO's exit with a hushed, "Gosh, I don't think I've ever seen the Colonel that angry." The men sat quietly, not knowing what to say, until the renewed silence was broken by the choking sound that presaged another bout of harsh coughing from Newkirk. Together, they all kept vigil over their sick friend, wanting to be there at his side when the inevitable occurred.

Two days sluggishly passed as they simply watched over and cared for their friend as he lay on his cot, desperately struggling to breathe. LeBeau periodically refreshed the wet cloth on Newkirk's forehead, trying to give some respite from the merciless fever. He looked up when the door to the infirmary opened to reveal Colonel Hogan.

The Colonel strode to the foot of Newkirk's cot and asked whomever had the temerity to answer, "How is he?"

LeBeau raised his head and spoke sadly to his commanding officer, "He is much worse mon Colonel. Look at his hands."

Hogan leaned down to examine Newkirk's hands and frowned at the sight of his pale blue fingernails. He reached down to gently cup the side of Newkirk's head in his hand. "Hang on Peter," he whispered.

Wilson made his way over to Newkirk's bedside and stood beside Hogan. "It's only a matter of days now, Colonel. I'm sorry."

The General put his hand on LeBeau's shoulder to interrupt his narrative at this point. "And that, Robbie, is when I called you."

Roberts shook his head slowly as he digested all that he had been told. "I fully understand your state of mind now. My God Rob! Newkirk endured all of that? The man deserves a VC!"

Hogan snorted derisively. "I nominated him for one Robbie. I nominated each of my men for the highest decoration their respective countries offered. I was told in no uncertain terms that due to the highly classified and sensitive nature of our operation, that no such decorations would be awarded."

"Bloody hell, Rob!" Roberts stood up and paced a few feet away. "I've seen puffed up penguins who parked their arses at desks for the entire war walking about with chests full of medals! They don't even deserve to polish your fellows' boots!" He walked back over to Newkirk's bedside to gaze down at him as he lay gasping for air within his oxygen tent. "Bloody pillocks!" he murmured.

The General looked over at Roberts as he stood beside Newkirk's bed and got up to stand beside his friend. He put his hand on Roberts' shoulder. "Well, all I know is that Peter wouldn't have survived if it hadn't been for you Robbie. I couldn't thank you enough back then, and I can't thank you enough now."

"Rob, I can never repay the debt I owe both you and your men, both for myself personally and on behalf of the PM." He looked Hogan in his eyes. "And I will continue to help in any way I can."

"Thanks Robbie." The General put a hand on Newkirk's arm and gripped it gently. "You know, that was the most heartbreaking thing I've ever had to do, telling Peter I was sending him back to London. He didn't want to go. He wanted us all to walk out the front gate together."

"It was just not meant to be mon Colonel," murmured LeBeau. "You cannot blame yourself. You made the right decision."

"I know Louis, but it hurt like hell. I can still hear him begging me to let him stay. God!" The General released Newkirk's arm and sat back down. "Remember Louis? When we were all in the ambulance that night, taking him to meet the plane?"

"Oui. I will never forget that night. I truly did not know if I would ever see him again." LeBeau tightened his grip on Newkirk's hand.

Roberts nodded grimly and returned to his seat as the undetected listener just outside the door finally gave free rein to her tears.

* * *

_A/N - VC is the acronym for the Victoria Cross, the highest military decoration awarded for most conspicuous bravery, or some daring or pre-eminent act of valor or self-sacrifice, or extreme devotion to duty in the presence of the enemy, to members of the armed forces of various Commonwealth countries, and previous British Empire territories. It takes precedence over all other orders, decorations and medals. It may be awarded to a person of any rank in any service and to civilians under military command. In the United Kingdom, it is usually presented to the recipient or to their next of kin by the British monarch at an investiture held at Buckingham Palace. (courtesy of Wikipedia)_


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20 - At spes non fracta**

Hogan glanced at Roberts and gestured him to lean closer; as Roberts did so, the General leaned in as well and whispered to him at length. The Vice Marshal listened and then sat back, nodding his agreement. "You can count on me Rob, I'll get right on it!"

"Thanks Robbie." Hogan sat back in his seat as well and glanced over at LeBeau. The Frenchman hadn't paid any attention to their hushed conversation, as he had resumed his conversation with Peter, murmuring encouragingly to his friend in a unique patois of French and English.

* * *

Something strikingly familiar suddenly stirred him to the brink of pseudo-consciousness. What was it? He thought they were voices, voices that penetrated slowly through his thick shroud of pain and exhaustion. _Voices...were __they __really __voices? __Whose __voices? __What __language __is __that? __Didn__'__t __sound __like __German. _Perhaps they were just figments of his tormented imagination. Was Hochstetter trying to trick him into talking? For the first time in who knew how long, he thought he actually heard voices.

His last memory had been of fighting to escape from Hochstetter after being brought by truck to only God knew where. The last voices he remembered hearing had been loud and insistent. Then there had been a sharp sting in his arm that had cast his mind back and then out. Time must have passed, how much he didn't know. He recalled nothing save an interminable black void, followed by an overwhelmingly unbearable, stinging heat. He tried to cry for help, but didn't know if he was successful or not. He thought that there was no one who would answer any cry he could make, since it was probably the Gestapo that was responsible for causing his pain. It didn't matter anyway...he couldn't move or even think clearly. It was a monumentally immense struggle just to breathe, much less speak or move. Then he suddenly felt enveloped by a refreshing coolness that was such a relief he faded gratefully back into nothingness.

He now sensed the intense, burning heat finally relenting a bit, leaving him stranded in a dense fog, unable to see or comprehend. The fog slowly and gradually cleared enough for him to hear what sounded like voices. He could've sworn someone had been talking to him almost nonstop but couldn't for the life of him place who it was. Whoever it was spoke to him in a very close, very low, very intense and very...French...voice. He had been hanging onto the sound of that voice for as long as he had been aware of it. He hoped against hope that it wasn't a dream or a drug-fuelled hallucination. He kept listening as much as he was able and the tone of the voice finally unlocked lost memories within his weary mind. _Louis? __Is __that __you __little __mate?_ His brain couldn't yet process or comprehend the meaning of the words that were being spoken, but he now definitely recognized the voice of his French friend.

Another voice, a voice he had not heard in a long time but could never forget, sliced through the fog and into his consciousness with swordlike clarity. _Is __that...? __It __can't __be!_ He then heard a third voice, an upper-class, cultured voice he didn't immediately recognize.

Where was he? No one was holding him down. No one was shouting at him to be still. Why would his little mate be here? Had he been captured too? Was he also a prisoner of the Gestapo? Or had his mates come through for him and rescued him? Where in the hell was he? He fought to concentrate on the sound of the second voice, a voice that sounded like the one he hadn't heard in such a very long time. As his thoughts slowly coalesced into something his exhausted, oxygen-starved brain could process, he tried to speak, move, anything to confirm that the voice belonged to the person he now clearly pictured in his mind. Unfortunately, his body refused to obey and he eventually stopped trying. He caught himself beginning to drift away when it finally dawned on him that someone had his hand in a firm, careful grip. He repeatedly tried to return the pressure but could not tell if he had been successful.

He had. LeBeau suddenly gasped and murmured "Mon Dieu!" He stared for a long moment at his English friend's face as he lay motionless within the oxygen tent, studying it intently for signs of consciousness. He saw none. LeBeau then reached over to grasp Hogan's arm and the General shifted in his chair to face the bed.

"What is it Louis?"

LeBeau didn't reply, but simply pulled Hogan's arm near and gently slipped Peter's hand from his to the General's. Hogan saw that the Frenchman had tears in his eyes. He smiled and nodded at Hogan's own gasp of surprise.

The General stood up and reached inside the oxygen tent to gently grip Peter's shoulder. He didn't bother to wipe the tears spilling from his eyes. "Peter? Thank God! Still obeying orders the hard way huh?" his voice cracked.

There was no reaction other than the barely discernable pressure from the Englishman's hand. But it was enough. God in heaven, it was enough! Hogan straightened up and LeBeau again took Peter's hand in his.

"I'll go get McFarland."

Roberts arose and put his hand on Hogan's shoulder as he turned from Newkirk's bedside. "What is it Rob?"

Hogan wiped his face with both hands and reached out to grasp Roberts by his upper arms. "He's coming out of it Robbie! I think he's finally coming out of it! He squeezed our hands! It was just barely there, but we felt it!"

Roberts glanced over Hogan's shoulder at Newkirk and then smiled back at Hogan with a relieved sigh, "Good show Newkirk! I knew he was a fighter."

Hogan nodded as he released his friend and made his way to the door. He paused for a moment as he thought he heard a muffled sob. When he pushed the door open he found Jo standing there with her eyes closed, leaning with her forehead against the wall. She startled and literally jumped as she realized someone had come out of the room. "Oh...oh...! Gen - Rob?" She turned away and frantically wiped her eyes, trying to compose herself.

Hogan looked at her sharply, then took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "Jo? What are you doing here?"

She dropped her head in embarrassment, unwilling to look the General in the eyes. She simply couldn't admit that she had been eavesdropping. "I...I was coming to check on Peter."

Hogan reached down to gently grasp her chin and lift her head up. He searched her face for a long moment and started to speak, then thought better of it. Instead, he smiled at her encouragingly and gently drew her along with him as he began walking. "Come with me Jo. I was just going to get Doctor McFarland. We think that perhaps the antibiotics have finally kicked in and Peter may be coming out it. He responded to LeBeau and me!"

Jo had just regained some semblance of composure and immediately lost it again upon hearing the General's words. He took her into his arms to comfort her as they moved down the hallway in search of McFarland.

* * *

Doctor McFarland nervously ran a hand through his hair as he hurried down the hall. He had had to rapidly pull himself together after the nurse woke him from a deep, dreamless sleep. He held his breath in anticipation of his patient's condition, hoping against hope that the experimental antibiotic had done its job as he had intended it to do. If it had, the patient's high fever spike was a very small price to pay.

He hadn't expected to find the room so full of people. LeBeau still sat next to the bed quietly talking to the patient, whilst General Hogan and Vice Marshal Roberts stood nearby. Jo had gone to get Mavis and they both stood at the foot of Newkirk's bed, their arms wrapped around each other as if it were the only way they kept themselves on their feet. They all turned to look at him as he entered the room, their expressions both expectant and hopeful.

He smiled encouragingly at them as he walked to Newkirk's bedside. "Well, I've been told that we have some good news! He responded to you?" McFarland nodded at LeBeau as he removed the oxygen tent and busied himself with taking his patient's vitals.

"Yes Doctor, he very gently squeezed my hand as I was speaking to him. He did the same to the Colonel...uh, the General."

Hogan stepped closer to the bed and spoke, "LeBeau's right Doctor, Peter definitely squeezed my hand."

"Uh hmmmmm." McFarland answered distractedly as he listened for a long moment to Newkirk's lungs. He then checked his respiration; he took the thermometer out of his patient's mouth and smiled broadly as he read it. He finished his examination and replaced the oxygen tent before he turned to speak. "His fever's dropped, just a bit, but it's definitely down! That's a good sign, a very good sign! I will need to keep a close watch on him but I believe I can say that the experimental antibiotic acted as the catalyst we needed to get his system to respond to the antibiotics we've already given him. It's as if they've 'kicked in' all at once, so to speak."

Mavis and Jo looked at each other and dissolved into tears nearly simultaneously. LeBeau crossed himself and reached over to gently pat Newkirk's hand. "I knew you would not give in mon ami! I knew it!" he murmured.

Hogan sighed and pulled Roberts into a bear hug. "Robbie, I don't have the words to thank you for your help!"

Roberts clapped Hogan on the back and pulled away, slightly embarrassed at the General's spontaneous display of emotion. "You're welcome Rob."

McFarland gestured to them all. "I'm sorry but I must ask all of you to retire to the waiting room. I'd like Newkirk to rest undisturbed for at least the next several hours. Will that be satisfactory with you?"

Hogan nodded, "That's fine with us Doctor. C'mon everyone, let's give Peter the time he needs to rest." He and Roberts walked over to Mavis and Jo to accompany them out the room. Jo again leaned into Hogan's arms and Mavis did the same with Roberts.

LeBeau leaned in and whispered to Newkirk, "We are going to leave now Pierre. Rest mon ami. We will come back when you have rested." He gently squeezed his friend's shoulder, then arose to follow the others out the door.

* * *

_A/N – Translation of chapter title: "But hope is not yet crushed"._


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21 – The Journey Begins**

"_We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey." - Kenji Miyazawa_

Peter's family and friends made their way back to the waiting room, finally daring to let themselves hope that perhaps he would soon emerge from this harsh and unrelenting ordeal. They were happily surprised to find fresh tea, coffee and sandwiches laid out, as none of them had felt like eating for quite some time. Jo and Mavis had quickly regained their composure with the help of Hogan and Roberts and they all sat down to refresh themselves with the food and drink. Afterwards, at Hogan's whispered request, Roberts drew Mavis over to LeBeau and asked him to explain to the two of them why he had been so certain that Peter was going to pull through.

The General walked over and extended his hand to Jo as she sat on the sofa. "Jo? Would you like to stretch your legs?"

Jo sighed and looked up. Hogan's friendly invitation bore the unmistakable undertone of command and she knew it. She extended her hand to him in reply; he took it and helped her to get to her feet. She glanced over at Mavis, Roberts and LeBeau; they were all engaged in an animated conversation and didn't take notice as the two of them left the room.

They walked in what Jo perceived as an anxious silence for as long as it took to arrive at their destination, namely, Doctor McFarland's empty office. "I asked the doc if I could borrow his office so we could have a bit of privacy," Hogan commented as he gestured for Jo to sit down. He pulled a chair up next to her and sat down as well. He sighed and looked at her for a long moment. "Jo, I really don't know how to ask this question delicately so I will just come out and ask bluntly. How much of our conversation did you overhear?"

Jo bit her lip and looked down as she wrung her hands in her lap. There was no escaping it now, she had to admit to her husband's former CO and very good friend that she had been eavesdropping on his private and supposedly confidential conversation. "I'm...I'm so sorry...Rob. I...heard...all...of it." She looked up, her eyes full of tears. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop...I really didn't…but I just…couldn't...force myself away. You were...discussing my husband and...I...I was hearing…things…things that he...he hasn't told me...about himself…." She put her hand on Hogan's arm. "General, Rob…please. If it's at all possible…may I hear the rest? Please? It would help me to help Peter…."

Hogan sighed and looked up at the ceiling for a very long moment. He couldn't really blame Jo, as it was quite obvious to him that she loved Peter with her entire being. If Peter Newkirk willingly took an uncharacteristically huge leap of faith to wholly and unreservedly entrust his heart to this woman, then Hogan felt she must be trustworthy indeed. He made his decision and looked directly at Jo, taking her hands in his. "Jo, you must swear to me that you will never, I repeat, never divulge to anyone that I have told you these things! Especially Peter. Neither are you to divulge what I am about to tell you to anyone, ever. Do you think you can do that in good conscience?"

Jo looked the General directly in the eyes as she spoke, "Yes, Rob. I swear not to reveal this matter to anyone, so help me God!"

Hogan saw the earnest desperation in her eyes and nodded tightly. "That's good enough for me." He scrubbed a hand across his face. "Since you heard everything then I assume you heard the part about the Adolph Hitler bridge." At her nod, he continued. "Well then you know that we were involved in…no, we were ordered to…no, damn it! I'm sorry Jo, I don't exactly know how to tell you this. Let me start over."

He got up and paced across the room and then sat back down. He reached for her hands again and spoke, "Jo, I was the leader of one of the most unconventional, unorthodox, some even said most bizarre outfits in the entire ETO. We were a volunteer underground group stationed at Stalag 13. We carried out Allied aircrew repatriation, espionage, sabotage, general slowdown of the German war effort, you name it, we did it. Peter Newkirk was one of my earliest recruits who soon became one of the most capable and trusted members of my command crew. He also became one of my closest friends. I trusted him implicitly with my life; still do, as a matter of fact."

"Volunteer? How does a prisoner of war volunteer Rob?" Jo wanted to know.

"My men deferred their own escapes to the completion of the mission."

"You mean, you mean Peter could have come home at any time?"

Hogan nodded. "Well, yes and no. We were stationed at the stalag, but as volunteers only. Any of us could have requested to leave, if we so chose and if London approved. As a matter of fact, nine months before the end of the war, one of us did." He sighed as the old guilt arose again. _Kinch! __We __sure __missed __you __at __the __end __my __friend!_ "I'm not at liberty to reveal who, but I have a feeling that this man's choice to leave us greatly affected Peter. He seemed, well, just a little out of sorts after that."

"Was it a close friend of his?"

"Very close."

"Peter is very loyal and he doesn't bestow his loyalty lightly. Once he's given you his loyalty, you have it for life."

The General agreed, "Don't I know it! That was one of the traits that made him so valuable to our operation."

Jo raised an eyebrow and asked, "Please tell me more about Peter's role in your operation, Rob."

The General drew a deep breath and started at the beginning. He tried not to get bogged down in detail that Jo really didn't need to know and just gave her an overview of the missions Peter played a vital role in. She did become a bit agitated when Hogan recounted the mission where Peter had taken his place at the last minute and ended up being captured by the Gestapo; the General quickly reassured her that he didn't suffer any torture or abuse on that occasion and that the team rescued him quickly. She laughed along with Hogan as he recounted how frustrated Peter had been to be laid up with a bad cold for the entire week afterwards.

"Louis pulled him through and nursed him back to health, as always. Carter helped too. We usually didn't bother Wilson with the minor stuff. I don't know what we would've done without each other."

"You all may not have survived as well alone Rob. Peter has told me that many, many times. He feels he probably would not have survived his captivity at all if he hadn't met you when he did."

"Well I don't know about that." Hogan embarrassedly ducked his head. "Peter has an incredible deep inner strength, as he's shown time and time again."

Jo just smiled, as she knew better. There was no one in the entire world Peter Newkirk respected more than the man sitting beside her. She knew he had played a huge role in her husband's rehabilitation, if you could call it that. When she and Peter first expressed a romantic interest in each other, Mavis had pulled her aside to tell her how he had come back from the war quite a different person. "If 'e 'adn't changed Jo I'd be warnin' ya off 'im quicker than anythin'. Don't get me wrong, 'e's me brother and I love 'im dearly. 'e's always looked out for me, but 'e's…'e's different…for the better now and 'e needs someone like you to 'elp 'im through life. Peter's a good man."

_A __good __man._ Jo couldn't agree more with her sister-in-law's assessment. Hogan's next words shook her out of her brief reverie.

"I'd have to say that there are several others who played a much greater part in Peter's survival than myself."

"Who would that be Rob?"

"Katrin, Manfred and Astrid."

Jo nodded. "I did wonder at first how he got so close to Katrin and her family. I asked him and he told me he had been slightly wounded making an escape attempt and that they took care of him until he was taken back to the camp." She smiled a bit at a sudden memory. "We tried to get over to Germany to visit them whilst we were in Paris on our honeymoon, but it was just too difficult. Transport was still military priority only, the country was nearly completely destroyed, phone lines were still unreliable, petrol supplies were nil. Even if we could secure petrol, we didn't have the funds for a private car so…we didn't go. Peter was awfully disappointed, as he really wanted me to meet Katrin. Since that time, we haven't had the funds to make a visit so the two of them keep in close touch via the post. I swear Peter is the most faithful correspondent I've ever seen when it comes to Katrin."

Hogan shook his head and chuckled, "I don't doubt it. He considers her his second mother. And of course, Andrew's mom is his third mother." He shook his head again. "Peter told you he had only been slightly wounded?"

"It _wasn__'__t_ a slight wound?" Jo's eyes widened in apprehension.

Hogan slid his chair next to Jo's and put his arm around her shoulders as he leaned in. "Not exactly. Let me tell you the real story behind Peter's relationship with Katrin and her family."

Jo felt genuinely dazed after she heard the General's account of that particular adventure, even more so coupled with what she had overheard earlier. She felt like she had been punched in the stomach after the General finished telling her all that her husband had done and endured during his incarceration in Germany. She sat quietly for a long time, simply trying to gather her wits back about her.

"I…I can't believe it Rob. It's so fantastic! It's just…unbelievable!"

Hogan sighed, "I know. Sometimes I wonder if it was all real myself."

She lowered her head and murmured, "That explains why he would sometimes wake up during the night, shaking and drenched in perspiration. One night he shouted in such terror I had to slap him harder than I wanted to just to wake him up. When he finally realized where he was, he collapsed in my arms, weeping as if his heart was breaking, apologizing over and over for upsetting me."

Hogan nodded sadly, unaware of these episodes. He swore to himself to get Peter the help he so desperately needed. "I never knew Jo. Peter never told me. From his letters, everything was fine."

"Well you know Peter, he does have his pride," Jo sighed.

Hogan chuckled. "It's nice to know some things haven't changed." His expression became serious as he spoke again, "Jo, please don't think of me as putting my nose in where it doesn't belong, but what is your and Peter's financial situation?"

The puzzlement must've shown on Jo's face because he quickly amended his words.

"What I mean is, what do you and Peter do for a living, if you don't mind me asking?"

"We don't have what you would call a traditional arrangement, if that's what you mean. I still work as a nurse. I've had to take an unpaid leave of absence to deal with Peter's illness. I'm praying I will still have a position when I am able to return." She smiled fondly as she thought of her husband and his contribution to their family's welfare. _He __eats __National __Cheese __sandwiches __nearly __every __day __for __lunch __with __never __a __complaint, __so __that __the __boys __can __have __a __nourishing __meal._ "Peter stays home and takes such good care of our boys. He receives a small pension from his disability and also takes in tailoring work when he can get it. He really is quite handy with a needle and thread."

Hogan nodded, "Don't I know it!"

"I'm not saying it's been easy Rob, but we get by. Peter seems to be content with being a 'house husband'. He's never complained; I know he loves his sons more than life itself." She sighed and looked down. "Although, sometimes I see him sitting very quiet and still, staring at nothing, with a faraway, wistful look on his face. He's embarrassed when he realizes I've been observing him that way and shrugs it off to the war." She raised her head and looked directly into Hogan's eyes. "And now I know why".

Hogan nodded, now somewhat uncomfortable with Jo's new insight into her husband's past. He could well sympathize with the nature of Newkirk's thoughts during those times. That knowledge only further confirmed the propriety of the plan he had been formulating since even before he received LeBeau's cable.

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the office door. Hogan called, "Come in!" and Doctor McFarland stuck his head in.

"May I come in? I don't wish to interrupt, but I think I may have some more good news for you."

Jo's heart skipped a beat at his words and she stared anxiously at McFarland as General Hogan got up to usher him into his own office. The General returned to stand behind Jo; he put a reassuring hand on her shoulder as McFarland leaned against his desk to face the two of them.

"I've been monitoring Mr. Newkirk's condition for the last three hours and I must tell you that I am greatly encouraged by his progress."

Jo started at his choice of words. "Progress, Doctor?"

McFarland nodded confidently as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Yes Mrs. Newkirk, I detect a slow, yet very definite progress in his condition. His breathing has marginally yet definitely improved. I am happy to say that my previous opinion was in error and it looks like the antibiotics are finally doing their job."

Jo stared at McFarland, her mouth agape. Her mind whirled crazily as she sought to absorb the doctor's words in tandem with all that General Hogan had just told her. McFarland's news certainly deserved her heartfelt tears of happiness, but she had cried so many lately there were none left. She struggled to answer, "I…I…," when she suddenly dropped her head into her hands and swayed dangerously. Hogan knelt and caught her before she fell out of the chair. He lifted her into his arms and gently laid her onto the sofa on the far side of McFarland's office. The doctor jumped to her side, taking her pulse and checking her pupils.

"I think the news was just a bit too much for her to handle right now Doctor," murmured Hogan.

"I believe you are right General. She has been through a great deal of stress." McFarland stood and went to retrieve a blanket from his desk drawer. He gently covered Jo and motioned to Hogan. "I can stay and watch over her if you like."

Hogan shook his head. "No Doctor, I'll stay with her if you don't mind."

McFarland nodded. "I really need to go back and keep monitoring Mr. Newkirk. Please call a nurse to come get me if you need anything."

"Will do. Thank you Doctor." Hogan walked McFarland to the door and then quietly pulled a chair beside the sofa so he could keep watch over his English friend's most precious treasure.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22 - Reunion**

The fog completely engulfed him again, dense and impenetrable. He wavered shakily between oblivion and quasi-awareness, between past and present. What drugs had the Gestapo given him to put him into this state? What had they wanted? Had he talked? Had he signed his friends' death warrants? When would the bloody drugs wear off? When? And where in the hell _was_ he? He still couldn't figure out where he was. The last thing he remembered was trying to communicate with whoever held his hand so gently. He struggled to resurrect that memory and suddenly saw his little French mate's face clearly in his mind's eye. _Louis?_ He remembered hearing Louis' voice but couldn't place it in the stream of time; he remembered Louis' voice telling him not to give in, to endure, to hang on. But when was it? He still had to struggle to fill his lungs with air, was he still lying in the camp infirmary? Where was Wilson? Where was Carter? Where was Baker? Where was...where was the Colonel? Another memory unexpectedly surfaced, the sound of the voice he hadn't heard in so long. He suddenly realized that he wasn't back at the camp. He was somewhere else, someplace else that he simply could not recall. Confused and disoriented, he let go and drifted away, exhausted by the effort to get his thoughts aligned.

McFarland stayed by his patient's side, constantly monitoring his vital signs. _Mr. Newkirk continues to display an extremely slow yet consistent improvement_, he noted on the chart at the foot of the bed. The patient had not yet regained any semblance of consciousness that he could confirm, despite both Hogan and LeBeau's claims to the contrary. He periodically leaned in close to his patient and spoke in a low, clear voice, testing him for any response.

"Mr. Newkirk? Mr. Newkirk, if you can hear me, please squeeze my hand as hard as you can."

_No response so far_. McFarland sighed to himself. Could both Hogan and LeBeau have been mistaken? Perhaps wishful thinking for their friend's condition clouded their perception. He sat back and stared at Newkirk as he still struggled for breath within the oxygen tent. The doctor resigned himself to a long vigil.

* * *

_I hope Peter has tamed that ferocious pride of his somewhat_, thought the General as he sat beside Jo. He looked down at his English friend's wife as she lay asleep on the sofa and thought, _I'm sure Jo has had quite a calming effect on him. Perhaps he just might be receptive to what I have to say._ He shook his head as he recalled his English friend's fiercely held pride and the problems it sometimes caused the team back in the stalag. He sighed and sat back with his arms crossed over his chest as he focused his mind to resolving the details needed to bring his plan to fruition.

* * *

The deliberate movements of someone beside the bed dredged him back up to the brink of semi-consciousness. Whoever it was had his hand in a firm grip. He had an idea that he hoped was right and tried to form it into a thought coherent enough to translate into a word. _Is that you? Could it possibly be you? Please tell me where I am! If anyone would know, it'd be you!_ He compelled himself to speak the one word he needed to speak and finally forced his lips to move.

McFarland saw his patient's forehead furrowing as if deep in thought, then his lips moving without any sound. He leaned down closer. He kept watching and raised his eyebrows in surprise when Newkirk finally rasped out one faint, barely intelligible word.

"G-Gov?"

McFarland distinctly felt Newkirk squeeze his hand at the same time he labored to speak that one word. He gently patted his patient's hand and laid it back down at his side before he got up to fetch a nurse.

* * *

"Mr. LeBeau?"

Louis looked up and over at the door to the waiting room. A nurse stood halfway inside, beckoning to him.

He nodded at her and got up. He grasped Roberts' arm for a moment and whispered, "Please excuse me for a moment, mes amis." He moved to listen as the nurse whispered urgently to him. He rushed back over to Mavis and Roberts. "The doctor has asked to see me. The nurse has assured me it is not an emergency, he merely has a few questions for me. Please excuse my absence."

Roberts put a hand on LeBeau's arm. "By all means old boy! You will let us know what he wanted when you return?"

"Oui! I will! Merci!" LeBeau barely concealed his impatience to be off to see McFarland and learn the latest news of his friend Peter. He turned and left with the nurse.

Mavis glanced at Roberts. "Louis sure was in a 'urry!"

Roberts smiled, "He and Newkirk are very close aren't they?"

Mavis nodded. "Oh yes. Ever since the war, they've been the best of friends. I never thought my brother could make such good friends the way 'e did. I'm so glad 'e 'as friends willin' to make such sacrifices for 'im."

Roberts agreed, although inwardly he wasn't surprised, given what he had just heard from Rob and LeBeau.

LeBeau tried to stay calm as he followed the nurse down the hallway. He didn't want to set his hopes too high, especially at this stage of Newkirk's illness. He knew that things could change in an instant either for good or bad. Despite his efforts, he felt his heart pounding ever harder as they approached the door to Peter's room.

The nurse ushered him into the room and announced his arrival to McFarland before she left. The doctor sat hunched over his patient, again checking vital signs. He looked up and gestured LeBeau to the empty chair beside him. "Mr. LeBeau, would you please sit down here beside me? I have a question for you."

The Frenchman sat down quickly and looked over at Newkirk as he still breathed with some difficulty within the oxygen tent. He then looked expectantly at McFarland.

"Yes Doctor? What is it you wish to ask?"

McFarland extended his hand to LeBeau, who took it with some hesitation. "First, I wish to congratulate you. You were correct. Mr. Newkirk responded to me as well."

LeBeau shakily let out the breath he had been holding in anticipation of the doctor's words. McFarland smiled and continued.

"I must tell you that he actually spoke to me."

The Frenchman broke out into a spontaneous grin. "He did? Dieu merci! May I ask what he said to you?"

McFarland nodded. "That is why I asked for you to come see me. It was only one word. He said 'Gov'. Do you know who that is?"

LeBeau laughed out loud in relief. "Oh Pierre, mon ami! I should have known. I should have known."

McFarland, puzzled at the Frenchman's reaction, simply stared as he waited for him to answer his question.

LeBeau finally calmed down. "I am sorry Doctor. That was what Pierre called General Hogan when we in the stalag during the war."

"Oh I see now." McFarland slowly nodded, as if to himself. "It would seem that the sound of his former commanding officer's voice is what brought him back to consciousness. Interesting."

A very faint stirring from the bed dragged LeBeau's attention away from McFarland and he leaned in to speak to his English friend.

"C'est vrai?" LeBeau laid his hand gently on Peter's brow and leaned down. "C'est vrai Pierre? Are you finally awake mon frére?"

Peter's lips moved soundlessly. _Louis? Louis? Is...that you?_ He struggled to get his eyes open to only a mere slit and drew a gasping breath when his vision cleared enough to reveal his French comrade's face hovering above his own.

"Louis?" The sound of that breathless, rasping whisper brought LeBeau to tears.

"Oui mon frére! Oui! Thank God you are finally awake! Thank God!"

Peter forced his eyes to open just a little bit more, wincing as the light hit them. He tried to turn his head towards his French friend. "L-Louis...the..." he had to pause to gather enough breath to finish, "...the Gov...'ere?"

"Oui Pierre. General Hogan is here. Would you like to see him mon frére? I know he wants to see you!"

Peter just nodded weakly, as he had no more breath to spare. LeBeau moved to get up when McFarland put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll go get the General, Mr. LeBeau. You stay here with your friend. I'll be back in a moment." McFarland got up and left.

"Merci beaucoup Doctor!" LeBeau called after him. He settled back into the chair and reached within the oxygen tent to take Newkirk's hand within his. His English friend kept his gaze focused as best he could and gave him a very brief, yet genuine smile.

LeBeau smiled back and gently squeezed Newkirk's hand. _I knew it mon frére! I knew that you would not give in!_

* * *

McFarland stopped by the waiting room to ask Roberts and Mavis to accompany him. He led them to his office, where Hogan still sat beside Jo. Mavis gasped and rushed to Jo's side. "What 'appened to 'er?"

Hogan rose to take Mavis by the shoulders. "She's fine Mavis! She's had the roughest time of any of us and her body just couldn't handle the stress any longer. When Doctor McFarland gave us the news, she fainted."

"News?" Both Mavis and Roberts blurted the word out at the same time.

McFarland stepped over. "I'm sorry, the General means the good news. Mrs. Newkirk fainted when I told her that her husband is slowly yet definitely improving. I daresay it will not be long before he will be taken off the critical list."

It was Mavis' turn to give out. Her knees buckled and Roberts caught her just in time. He chided her gently as he led her to a seat. "Now, now Mavis, are you going to join Jo as well?"

Mavis shook her head, both in answer and to clear it. "No Robbie, no. It just was a bit of a shock, even though a good one, but still a shock!"

"I understand. Sit here and collect yourself." He knelt beside the chair and took her hand as she tried to regain her composure.

McFarland approached Hogan. "Well it seems that I have an even better bit of news to share with you all. Mr. Newkirk has regained consciousness!"

"Thank God!" Mavis dissolved into tears of relief and Roberts took her in his arms. He looked up at Hogan with a smile.

"I say Rob, your man Newkirk is quite the fighter isn't he?"

Hogan could only nod, as he didn't trust himself to speak at this point. McFarland took him aside and spoke privately with him. "LeBeau is with him right now. Mr. Newkirk has asked to see you General. Would you please come with me?"

"Of course Doctor! Just a minute." He turned to Mavis and Roberts. "Doctor McFarland has asked me to go with him to see Peter. Would you two mind staying here with Jo? Do you mind if I go right now Mavis? I promise I'll be back in time for you to go visit with Peter as well."

Mavis firmly shook her head. "I don't mind at all Rob. I woulda been surprised if Peter 'adn't asked for you. Go ahead, we'll look after Jo."

Roberts came over to Hogan and clapped him on the shoulder. "Go ahead Rob! I can see you're chuffed to bits about getting to see Newkirk. Mavis and I will wait here for you."

"Thank you Mavis! Thanks Robbie!" Hogan turned to McFarland. "Okay doc, let's go!" They both left and Roberts turned to Mavis.

"I can't tell you how happy I am for you Mavis!" He looked over at Jo. "I would imagine Jo will be ecstatic to know Peter's woken up."

Mavis nodded. "I 'ope she wakes up soon, poor dear."

McFarland had difficulty keeping up with General Hogan's long strides and fast pace. The man was obviously impatient to see his friend. When they arrived at Newkirk's room, McFarland drew ahead of Hogan and slowly opened the door. They quietly stepped in to find LeBeau sitting silently beside Newkirk's bed. He looked up as they approached the bed.

"Rob, mon ami fell asleep a few minutes ago." Hogan's mood deflated a bit at that and LeBeau stood up to relinquish his seat to him. "I will wake him for you."

The General put his hand out and grabbed LeBeau's arm before he could wake Newkirk up. "No Louis. Let me wake him. Please."

LeBeau nodded slowly and stepped back as Hogan reached within the oxygen tent to gently shake Newkirk by the shoulder. He leaned in to quietly speak to his friend, "Peter? Wake up Peter! It's me, the Colonel. C'mon Peter, wake up." It took several minutes for Newkirk to claw his way back to consciousness. He finally opened his eyes a bit and gasped when he realized who was talking to him.

"G-Gov?" he rasped. "Is...it...really...you?"

"Yes Peter! It's really me!" Hogan turned to smile broadly at LeBeau and McFarland, his eyes brimming with tears. He turned back to Newkirk and grasped his shoulder. "It's about time you woke up!"

Newkirk closed his eyes briefly. "Where...where..."

LeBeau leaned in to whisper, "Remember General, earlier he thought he was back in the camp."

Hogan nodded and answered Newkirk's question with, "You're in the hospital Peter. You've had another bout of pneumonia, but you're on the mend now."

"An-another...?" his brow furrowed in confusion.

Hogan gently patted Newkirk's shoulder. "Don't worry about that now. It'll come back to you. Trust me." He turned to LeBeau. "Louis would you please go get Mavis? I'm sure Peter would like to see her."

"Oui! I will return in a moment." LeBeau left and Hogan turned back to Newkirk.

_Mave?_ he mouthed soundlessly. He couldn't seem to get his thoughts into any kind of order and wondered why Mavis was apparently in the same place he was. Hogan noted his friend's continued bewilderment and leaned in closer.

"Peter, you're in London. The war ended over seven years ago."

The intense struggle to remember where he was in the stream of time began to take its' toll. He felt sick to his stomach and exhausted at the same time. His eyes began to roll closed despite his desire to see Mavis. The General gently squeezed his shoulder in an effort to keep him alert.

"Peter, look at me. Please stay awake for just a little longer. Mavis will be here any minute."

He forced his eyes open to meet Hogan's. The General nodded slightly and kept his hand on his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze each time his eyes rolled shut. Hogan turned to McFarland.

"Doctor would you mind going to see what's keeping Mavis?"

McFarland nodded and had just moved to leave when Mavis and LeBeau came into the room. Mavis rushed to Peter's side and Hogan arose to give her his seat. She reached into the oxygen tent to lay her hand against Peter's cheek.

"'ey...Mave..." he whispered faintly. He felt his strength rapidly depleting and his eyes rolled shut again, this time to stay closed.

"'ey Peter...," her voice cracked as she realized he had drifted off. "Blimey, 'e's fallen asleep! That's alright brother, you sleep. Get yer rest, you need it." She lifted the oxygen tent up and gently kissed him on the forehead.

McFarland approached his patient's bedside and spoke quietly. "I think Mr. Newkirk has had enough excitement for now. He needs to sleep undisturbed."

Hogan nodded, "No problem Doctor, we were just leaving." He gestured to Mavis and Louis, and the three of them quietly left. McFarland took the opportunity to check Newkirk's vitals one more time and he then left his patient alone to rest.

* * *

The last thing Jo remembered was feeling so dizzy she could barely stay upright in the chair she sat in. She certainly did not remember moving over to the sofa, nor covering herself with a blanket. She opened her eyes with a start and gasped as a hand gently took hers. She looked up into Louis' face as he bent down over her.

"Josephine, mon chérie! You are awake at last!"

"Louis? Where...how...?"

"Please, chérie, take one moment to calm down. You are still in Doctor McFarland's office. You have been here resting after you fainted."

"I...I fainted? I don't remember that. I remember the doctor...telling us...that he thought Peter was getting better." She sat up too quick and put her hand up to her head. "Did I imagine that? Or is it true? Is Peter really getting better?"

Louis still had Jo's other hand in his and he helped her to sit up as he answered her. "Oui Josephine. You did not imagine it, Pierre is on the way to recovery. He woke up chérie! He actually woke up and spoke to us!"

Jo looked at him uncomprehendingly. "Why didn't anyone wake me up?"

"Doctor McFarland thought it for the best that you continue to sleep chérie. Pierre did not stay awake for very long. He fell asleep after a few minutes."

"How long ago was that Louis? How long have I been asleep?"

"You have been asleep for several hours Josephine."

Jo swung her legs down, put her feet on the floor and stared at Louis. "Louis, I need to see Peter."

LeBeau sighed. McFarland's instructions had been explicit, he wanted his patient to rest undisturbed, yet Jo of all people deserved to see him. Peter had responded to them, had spoken to them. Yet he had not spoken to his wife. Yes, he decided, he would take Josephine to see her husband.

"Come chérie. I will take you to Pierre."

Louis walked her to Peter's room and then left her to her privacy. Jo quietly approached Peter's bedside and collapsed onto the chair beside his bed. She sat still for a moment, trying to rein in her racing thoughts. She watched as his bandaged chest slowly rose and fell with each shallow, still somewhat labored breath and finally reached in to take his hand. She brought it up to her lips and then laid it back down at his side. Jo wearily leaned down until her forehead touched the back of her husband's hand. She simply could not find the words to express how she felt. "My poor, brave darling…I never dreamed...," she whispered brokenly. "I never dreamed." Now she knew why Peter never spoke of his experience during the war. Suddenly the intervention of a U.S. Air Force Major General, an RAF Air Vice Marshal and the Right Honorable Prime Minister made complete sense to her. She wondered at the astounding inner strength of the man she married and gently gripped his forearm as she dissolved into soft sobs. _Oh Peter, what can I possibly say? What? You suffered and endured so much and never even spoke of it._ _I understand why darling. I just wish I could tell you that I know and that I so desperately want to help._ She vowed to keep his secret locked in her heart and to never reveal to him what she knew. He would tell her if and when he was ready. And if he didn't, well, that was his prerogative.

As she sat beside Peter, she had a sudden flash of insight on a memory that had puzzled her for the last seven years. _So that's why…!_ She remembered that day well. Peter had just embarked on the long recovery from his first near-fatal bout with pneumonia.

She had entered Peter's room quietly. He was lightly dozing, not quite completely asleep yet not completely awake either.

"Peter?" she spoke softly as she very gently grasped his shoulder, not wanting to startle him.

He inhaled sharply and groaned a bit. "Hmmmm? Who's there…?"

"It's your nurse, Josephine. Remember me? Come on, soldier, wake up."

He cracked his eyes halfway open, then opened them fully when he saw it was indeed Jo.

"Oh 'ello darlin'." A tired smile graced his face.

She frowned at him and shook her head slightly as she reached to take his pulse. "And how are you feeling today?"

"Mmmmmmmm…much better now that you're 'ere."

"Flattery will get you nowhere mister. Now seriously, how are you feeling?"

He slowly stretched in the bed as he answered. "Still feelin' a bit dozy."

"Well that's to be expected. You've had quite a rough time of it. It will take a little while for you to recover your full strength."

He closed his eyes wearily, too exhausted to speak clearly. "Uh huh."

"You might want to try to stay awake for a few minutes. I have a cable for you. And not just any cable mind you, Mr. Important. It's a 'Confidential Cable – Eyes Only' for the attention of one Corporal Peter Newkirk.'"

His eyes popped back open. "Really? Who's it from?"

"I'll have to let you see for yourself." She smiled and handed him an envelope. "As I said, a peasant like myself isn't allowed to read it."

He held the envelope in his hand and looked down at it for a long moment before he slowly opened it. As he unfolded and read it, a wide grin supplanted the exhaustion on his face. The message was brief and very much to the point. CAMP LIBERATED. ALL SAFE AND WELL. EXPECT VISITORS SOON. PAPA BEAR AND CUBS MINUS ONE.

_Thank God! They're all safe! Thank God! They're finally free!_ He bowed his head and then began shaking with laughter, which quickly turned into tears. He alternated between several bouts of laughter and tears. Jo reached over to put a hand on his shoulder. "Good news I trust?"

Peter gradually calmed himself down enough to speak, though his voice still shook with raw emotion. "The best news ever! Cor blimey, it's the best news ever! Our camp's been liberated! Me mates are safe and free!"

Jo couldn't keep from grinning herself at his almost child-like joy. "I'm so happy for you Peter!"

"Thanks darlin'. Thanks." He suddenly dropped his head into his hand with a slight moan.

"What is it? Are you all right?"

He nodded, head still down. "I'm fine darlin'. Just real dizzy all of a sudden."

"I'm not surprised. You've just had a bit of a shock, albeit a very good one! Here, lie back down and get a little more rest."

He let her settle him into the bed and closed his eyes. "Thank you for bein' so good to me," he murmured.

Jo narrowed her eyes at his comment, wondering why he phrased it that way. "You deserve the best Peter. I truly believe that. It's the least I can do for someone who's sacrificed so much."

He shook his head as if he wanted to say something more, but fell asleep before he could.

Jo took his blood pressure and then put her hand to his forehead to check his temperature. She ended up gently smoothing his hair back from his forehead. _Why don't you think you deserve to be treated well Peter?_ She wondered if Mavis would possibly have any insights into her brother as she quietly left the room.

She shook her head as the pieces of that particular puzzle finally fell into place after seven years.

No small amount of time passed, how much she didn't know. She must've fallen asleep because she started as she felt a slight yet definite pressure at the back of her neck. Peter had moved his hand and he was trying his best to gently caress her hair. She sat up slowly and stopped when she heard his hoarse whisper.

"Jo...?" he swallowed hard and took another shallow breath. "Please...darlin'... d-don't...cry..." His eyes were barely open, yet she could see they were lucid with recognition.

"Oh Peter!" Jo cried. She shifted the side of the oxygen tent a bit and leaned her head gently on his chest, mindful of his broken ribs. "Oh Peter…" she murmured.

"So…tired…" He still had his hand on the back of her head and moved it to encircle her shoulder. "Stay…please...?"

Jo lifted her head. "Oh yes darling!" She pulled her chair closer so that she could comfortably rest her head against his shoulder. She silently thanked God as she listened to the sound of his noticeably clearer, steadier breathing as he fell asleep.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23 - Regret**

"_Accept life, and you must accept regret." - Henri-Frédéric Amiel_

Jo awoke when McFarland entered to re-check his patient's vitals. He hadn't expected to see anyone in the room but completely understood her need to be with her husband. He put his hand on her shoulder and spoke very quietly. "Mrs. Newkirk, I'm sorry to have to disturb you, but I need to check your husband's vitals."

He helped her sit up and she sat silently watching as the doctor performed his examination. She then reached in to give Peter's face one last caress before she stood to accompany McFarland as he left the room. The doctor, hard-pressed to restrain his obvious excitement, turned to her as they walked down the hallway. "I must say I've never seen a patient make such a stunning turnaround! His fever is steadily dropping and his breathing continues to improve. It's almost as if once the antibiotics finally kicked in, they've been working together to simply sweep the infection away!"

Jo shook her head in amazement. Peter had been so very ill and now he appeared to be well on the road to recovery. It had all seemed to happen so quickly; his chest cold had morphed into life-threatening pneumonia virtually overnight and now here it was apparently retreating in the same manner. The doctor had been correct, antibiotics _had_ come a long way in the last seven years. She dared to hope that perhaps that also meant that Peter's ultimate recovery period wouldn't be nearly as lengthy and arduous as the first time.

McFarland continued, "You certainly were right about your husband, he has an extremely strong reserve of endurance."

_You don't know the half of it Doctor!_ Jo thought to herself. _You don't know the half!_ The words Louis had spoken to her when he first arrived echoed through her mind. _Our Pierre is strong. Much stronger than even you know._ At the time she had marveled at Louis' unshakable confidence in Peter's recovery.

McFarland glanced sideways at Jo, "I believe that you may be able to speak with him at length soon. If he keeps up this rate of progress I daresay he could possibly recover full consciousness within the next few days."

Jo looked at McFarland and smiled warmly, as the doctor had read her mind. "Thank you Doctor. I can't tell you how much that means."

McFarland went on to the waiting room with Jo to give the others his latest update on Peter's condition, after which Jo called her mum and dad to let them know the wonderful news. Now that his English friends' crisis appeared to be over, LeBeau also made a call home to share his joy over Peter's condition with Danielle, as well as to make tentative plans to return home.

In the succeeding days, Doctor McFarland's prognosis proved overwhelmingly true as Peter continued to make consistent strides towards recovery. Jo stayed by his side as much as she could, hoping and praying that he would soon fully awaken. For the most part, he continued to sleep, rising to semi-consciousness on precious few occasions. McFarland assured her that this was to be expected, as his body required as much rest as possible whilst the antibiotics cleared the infection from his system.

Four days had passed since Peter initially regained a semblance of consciousness and Jo again sat at his bedside, his hand clasped within hers. McFarland sensed her frustration and disappointment, and approached to speak to her encouragingly.

"Patience, Mrs. Newkirk. He'll awaken soon. Trust me."

Jo sighed and resumed her vigil. Mavis, LeBeau, Hogan and Roberts each took their turns as well, watching and waiting for Peter to come back to full consciousness. Given Peter's previous confusion, McFarland felt it better to limit the number of visitors to two at a time. Thus, Jo and Hogan were in his room when he finally came to full awareness a day or so later.

They had been quietly talking to each other when a rough, shaky voice sounded from the bed. "G-Gov? It…really is you…I…I thought I…'ad been…dreamin'." He moved his head to catch sight of Jo. "Jo! Are you…all right darlin'? I 'eard you…you…were cryin' so…."

Jo was momentarily stunned into silence; after everything he had been through, here he was asking her if _she_ was all right. "Oh Peter, darling, don't worry about me! How are _you_ feeling?"

"I…I'm…not sure darlin'…." He stopped to gather enough breath to continue and ended up in a brief coughing fit.

Hogan reached out to gently grasp Peter's arm before he arose from his seat. "I'll be right back. McFarland wanted to be notified as soon as you woke up."

"Sure…Gov." He looked at Jo after Hogan left. "Who's McFarland?"

Jo smiled through tears and tenderly smoothed his hair back off his forehead. "We'll explain everything to you darling. Don't worry yourself."

He furrowed his brow as he tried to sort his thoughts and memories. "I…thought…Louis…was 'ere…and…and…Mave too?"

"Yes darling, you're right. They are all here. Vice Marshal Roberts is here as well."

"Oh…," the one voice he had had trouble identifying now had a face. "Why….?"

"We'll answer all of your questions after the doctor examines you darling. Please, just relax and don't worry yourself any further."

McFarland came in followed by Hogan, and Jo stepped aside to allow him to perform a thorough examination on Peter. He patted his patient's shoulder as he finished and straightened up, a broad smile on his face.

"Mr. Newkirk, I am very pleased to say you are progressing well! Very well indeed!"

"Thanks…uh, Doctor?"

McFarland chuckled at the question posed by his patient. "Yes, I've been your physician since you were brought here."

"Where…where's…'ere?"

Hogan spoke up, "Doctor, Jo and I will fill Peter in if you don't mind."

McFarland nodded, "Not at all, that's exactly what I was going to suggest. Now if you will excuse me, I will leave you all alone."

Hogan saw the doctor to the door and rejoined Jo at Peter's bedside. Between the two of them they quickly updated Peter on all that had happened since he had fallen ill at home. As they had expected, he grew fatigued towards the end of their explanation and dropped off to sleep shortly afterwards.

"I hope he remembers a little of what we just told him," sighed Jo.

Hogan shook his head and laughed. "I've got a feeling that we're going to have to explain it several more times before it all sinks in."

* * *

Two days later, Peter asked to speak with Hogan privately.

"General, I 'aven't seen you but once since the war ended, and that was 'ere at the 'ospital seven years ago. I don't know why I didn't apologize to you then...guess I was still too ashamed."

Hogan frowned, momentarily perplexed by Newkirk's words. _Apologize? Ashamed? For what?_ He verbalized his thoughts. "Apologize to me? What on earth for Peter?

"For scarperin' when I did. I...I let you and the fellas down. Gov, I'm...I'm so sorry..."

The General stiffened in shocked surprise. "Let me down? How do you think you let me down?"

"I...I...left you and the rest of me mates. I abandoned you...," Peter turned his face away as his voice broke.

Hogan gasped, still dumbfounded by his friend's words. He had never known Newkirk felt this way. Of course, it wasn't at all justified. He had had to be evacuated because he was injured and desperately ill. He had been on the very edge of death. He had no valid reason at all to feel guilty; yet, his words proved that he did. The General put his hand on his friend's shoulder and spoke.

"Peter?" Newkirk didn't move. Hogan persisted and gently pulled at Newkirk's shoulder. "Peter, please look at me!" The gentle tone of command underlying Hogan's words prompted him to obey. He turned his face to look at his former CO, and Hogan saw that his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He spoke very softly, "Please set your mind to rest. Look at me Peter! It was not your fault! How could it have possibly been your fault?"

"I...I can't explain it, Rob. I just...know...'ow I feel."

Hogan sighed, frustrated beyond belief by his English friend's strict yet confusing code of loyalty. Always the worrier! Always looking after everyone but himself! Sterling qualities to be sure, but not when carried to this extreme. He tried again to ease Newkirk's mind.

"Peter, as far as it was within my control, I didn't lose a single man under my command at the camp. I'm very proud of that and I was determined that you were not going to be the first. Especially with the end so close in sight!"

"What...what about Kinch?"

That comment came straight out of left field and it took Hogan completely unaware. He swallowed the lump that suddenly thickened his throat and spoke very softly, "You know that Kinch chose to leave us, as was his prerogative. He had the right to make that choice, Peter, just as we all did."

Newkirk suddenly couldn't catch enough breath to form a reply, as he had talked much more than he should have. Truth be told, he had never admitted to any of his friends how deeply hurt he had been when Kinch left. At the same time, he felt like a selfish, petty prat for experiencing those feelings, as he knew he should've been happy for his friend instead. He turned his head away again, unable to explain himself to Hogan. He began coughing as he tried to regulate his breathing.

"You've talked far too much for now Peter. Here," the General reached over and brought a cup of water to Newkirk's lips. "Drink a little of this."

He stopped coughing long enough to empty the cup. It helped a bit. He laid back and finally caught his breath. "S-sorry sir..."

Hogan shook his head. "If you don't stop apologizing I don't know what I'm going to do! I want you to get some rest, okay? We'll finish this conversation when you're up to it."

As Hogan slipped out the door he caught sight of LeBeau walking down the hall and he gestured to him. Rolling his eyes in frustration, he pulled the Frenchman close. "Louis, were you aware of how Peter felt about what happened seven years ago?"

LeBeau shrugged. "I know he was not happy leaving us the way he did."

"It goes far deeper than that, Louis." Hogan leaned in and told LeBeau what had just transpired between he and Newkirk.

The Frenchman shook his head sadly. "Oh Pierre, when will you stop worrying about us, mon ami?"

"He's just talked himself into exhaustion. Would you see if you can try to make some headway with him after he's rested up? Please?"

"Oui Rob. I will try." A few hours later, LeBeau crept quietly into Newkirk's room.

"Pierre? May I sit down?"

"Yeah Louis…" sighed Newkirk.

"Pierre, I know you were not happy with how things ended seven years ago…"

Newkirk cut him off, "Louis please don't get me wrong. I don't blame the Gov'nor. I know 'e 'ad a 'ard choice and…and I am grateful to 'im. I really am! But I…I've always felt like I…I failed you lot. I wasn't there with you when the camp was liberated…I wanted us all to…to walk out the gate…." He paused to take a deep breath to steady himself before he continued. "I…I abandoned me mates…me best mates…when…when it counted most…I…didn't even…say a…proper…good-bye…" his voice broke and he again turned his face away.

LeBeau sat back, completely bewildered. He had had no inkling that Peter felt such an underserved, damning guilt and thus he chose his words very carefully. "Oh Pierre, how my heart aches to hear the pain in your voice. I am very sad that I did not realize you felt this way." He put his hand on Newkirk's shoulder. "My dear friend, my brother, you in no way failed us! You stood firm for us when it counted most! You saved us, nearly at the cost of your own life! Believe me Pierre, the day we walked out that front gate, you were right there with us! The Colonel gathered us all together to tell us that he had sent you a message that the camp had been liberated. He made sure that you were in our thoughts; I can still hear his voice as he spoke to us, mon ami. He said, "This is for Peter! Remember his sacrifice! We wouldn't be here if it weren't for him!"

Newkirk barely held back a sob and LeBeau moved to take his friend's hand in his own. "Mon ami, it was not your fault you had to leave us! You would have died had you stayed! Please do not burden your heart any longer with this undeserved guilt!"

"I'll…I'll try Louis. The Gov'nor said the same thing. 'e said I've got no call to feel this way, but I…I just can't 'elp it."

LeBeau did not know what else he could tell his distraught friend to comfort him. He gently patted his hand and said, "Please try to put these thoughts out of your mind mon ami. You have absolutely no reason to burden yourself with this guilt. You need to concentrate on getting well instead of dwelling on this. Do this for me please?"

Newkirk nodded and tried to regain his composure as LeBeau cast about for another subject. He sat forward and spoke as he remembered something sure to cheer his friend's despondent heart. "Josephine tells me that you are making rapid progress mon ami. That is such good news! Do you not agree?"

Newkirk nodded and tried to find a smile for his French friend. He failed. "I'm…I'm sorry Louis…I just feel…I feel like a right failure. Not just to you lot either…I can't support Jo and the boys the way I..I…" he stopped himself and ended with, "I'm just an all 'round cockup."

LeBeau sat, increasingly lost as to what to say to counteract Newkirk's dejection. He desperately wanted to reassure his friend. "Please Pierre, do not say that. You are breaking my heart with each word."

"I…I'm sorry Louis. I can't 'elp it."

LeBeau kept a firm grip on Newkirk's hand and simply sat beside him, awkwardly silent. After a few minutes, he noticed his English friend tiring. Newkirk was struggling to keep his eyes open and LeBeau leaned back down to whisper, "Go to sleep mon ami. Do not distress yourself any longer. None of us feel about you the way you think we do. You have nothing, do you hear me, nothing to apologize to us for. You saved us. You saved us all. Think of that as you drift off to sleep. Please, mon ami. Think of that." Newkirk finally fell asleep and LeBeau released his hand before he quietly stood to leave. He shook his head as he looked down at his English friend. _Oh Pierre, what else can I say? I would not be here were it not for you._

LeBeau later filled the General in on the conversation he had with Newkirk. The General voiced his frustration. "I don't understand why on earth he feels that way!"

The Frenchman shrugged apologetically. "That is the way Pierre is Rob."

_I really need to get him the help he needs_, Hogan thought to himself. He kicked himself mentally for not getting to London before now and checking on his English friend. He should've known that Peter wouldn't volunteer that he needed help. _Darn his thick English pride!_

* * *

The situation with Newkirk had prickled another memory within the General's mind and he sought out McFarland to ask if he could use his office to place an overseas call. He sat down, lifted the receiver and asked the switchboard operator to connect him to the overseas operator. As he waited for the line to open, he calculated the time difference. _Yep, I'm okay._ The last thing he wanted to do was to wake the other party in the hours just before dawn. A call anytime between midnight and dawn almost always carried bad news, although this call would bear gladsome news to the receiver. The phone rang and the operator confirmed that the call was being put through. He thanked her and waited.

"Hello?" The voice at the other end of the line sounded tentative, like it hadn't quite awakened yet. Well it was early yet in the states.

"Andrew?"

"Colonel? I mean, General?" Carter's voice rose in pitch as he realized who was calling him and why. "Omigosh, omigosh, how's Peter? Please don't tell me he's…"

"Hold your horses, Andrew, the news is good. Peter's going to be fine. He's finally responding to the treatment and he's awake and aware. He's doing fine."

Hogan felt Carter's relief all the way across the Atlantic. "Oh thank God! Thank God! How…how's Jo holding up?"

"She's fine. Relieved like the rest of us."

"Poor Jo. I'm sure she's been through hell. Please give her my best regards?"

"I will Andrew. While I've got you on the line though, I'd like to ask you a question about something that seems to be really bothering Peter."

"Sure sir!"

Hogan didn't bother to correct Carter as he told him of his conversation with Newkirk about his departure from the stalag seven years ago. As he ended, Carter heaved a heavy sigh.

"That's Peter for you sir. I had no idea he still felt that way…I remember that night in the tunnel. I didn't have any idea of what to say. I really didn't."

"What night in the tunnel?" Hogan asked.

Carter paused and thought it over first. "You have to promise me you won't tell Louis, Colonel, uh General."

"Andrew, it's Rob, okay?"

Another heavy sigh sounded as Carter tried to accustom himself to calling his former CO by his first name.

"Yes sir."

Now it was Hogan's turn to sigh heavily. "And no more 'sirs' do you hear me?"

"Yes s-, yes Rob!"

"Now why don't you want Louis to know about this?"

"Well, because he's kinda the cause of it all. Even though it wasn't his fault, not at all. It just happened that way."

"Okay, why don't you start at the beginning?"

"Well, you remember when we were running from the SS patrol and Louis got shot?"

Hogan nodded to himself, _How could I ever forget that night? We were all so scared and Newkirk nearly_…. That train of thought stopped him cold and he suddenly sensed that Carter might very well have the answer to his question. He replied, "Yes Andrew. That's another night I'll never forget."

"Me too boy! Uh, sir. Uh, Rob! Anyways you sent me down into the tunnel, remember?"

Hogan again found himself cast back into the past as he listened to Carter's version of what happened that night so long ago.

"Peter? Peter! Where are you? Are you down here buddy?" Carter's voice echoed endlessly through the tunnels as he stood at the intersection of the main tunnel and the emergency tunnel. He paused to let the echoes die down so he could hear a reply, if one was forthcoming. To be honest, he really didn't expect one, knowing Peter as well as he did.

Newkirk had disappeared immediately after they had brought a groggy LeBeau back up to the barracks and tucked him safely into bed. The RAF Corporal had hovered, both nervous and anxious, over the Frenchman as the Colonel cleaned and bandaged his bullet-grazed shoulder. He had then helped Carter carry LeBeau up the ladder leading into the barracks. Carter had lost track of Newkirk as he busied himself helping Colonel Hogan get LeBeau comfortably settled in the bunk. When he turned to call Newkirk over, the Englishman was nowhere to be seen.

The Colonel had sent him to find Newkirk, knowing that only he could ferret the Englishman out, especially when he didn't want to be found. The Colonel reckoned, correctly as it turned out, that Newkirk didn't want to be found right now. Despite the insults and bravado, the English Corporal had just experienced one of the greatest shocks of his life and the stress had finally taken its toll on him. This was the closest they had come to losing one of their own to enemy fire and Hogan knew since it was LeBeau that Newkirk would take it especially hard. Even though the Frenchman's wound proved minor, Newkirk looked and acted like he was shaken to the core. He and the Frenchman had been in the camp longer than any of the others and they shared an especially close bond of friendship. Plus Newkirk's self-appointed position of protector and worrier made him, ironically, more vulnerable than all of them to any harm that might befall them.

Carter shook his head as the last of the echoes faded away. He recalled how starkly plaintive Newkirk's voice had been when they discovered that LeBeau had been wounded. The Englishman had taken LeBeau in his arms and looked at his CO, his face blank with shock. _Oh no! Colonel…my, my little mate's been 'it._ He had never heard that faltering tone in the cocky Englishman's voice before, and he knew he never wanted to hear it again. He had just raised his hands to cup them around his mouth and call out again when he thought he heard a faint rustling noise. He followed the sound to the far alcove of the tunnel they used as a storeroom. He stopped just outside the entrance to listen further. He heard the sound of someone breathing raggedly and unevenly. He stepped back to grab one of the lamps they used to light the main tunnel, as the alcove was unlit and pitch black inside. He gingerly moved just inside the entrance and whispered, "Peter? Is that you? Answer me buddy, please." He stopped short at the sight of Newkirk huddled on the floor in the corner of the dark alcove, his face buried in his hands.

"Go 'way Carter!" he hissed, without lifting his face from his hands.

Carter didn't move. Instead he walked over and crouched down beside his friend. "You know better than that Peter. I'm not gonna leave you by yourself like this." He sat down beside Newkirk. "Why are you sitting down here in the dark all alone?"

"Because I want to be just that – alone!" Newkirk sighed heavily. "Aren't you goin' to leave like I told you to?"

"Nope." Carter set the lamp down and made himself a bit more comfortable on the hard floor before he wrapped an arm around Newkirk's shoulders. "Not until you calm down and tell me why you're down here."

Newkirk didn't reply for a long few minutes. He let Carter keep his arm wrapped around him as he tried to steady his breathing. "'ow's Louis?"

"He's asleep right now. The Colonel says he'll be fine. He was really lucky he only got grazed."

"Yeah. Lucky." Newkirk shuddered as he spoke and Carter tightened his grip on his friend.

"Try not to think about it buddy. It's all over and Louis is gonna be fine."

Newkirk continued as if he hadn't heard Carter's words. "As soon as you and the Gov'nor got LeBeau tucked away in bed, I got real...really sick to me stomach and...I...couldn't...couldn't stop shakin'. I don't know…why….but I…just started shakin' and I couldn't stop…I 'ad to get away."

"Golly Peter! That's only natural! We all felt that way."

Newkirk shook his head in disagreement. "No that's not all of it. I…I wasn't payin' attention out there, Andrew…I almost lost 'im. I gotta get me 'ead straight that's all…I can't lose any of you lot. Andrew, when this camp's liberated, we're all gonna walk out the front gate together or me name isn't Peter Newkirk."

Carter sat back, at a complete loss as to what to say to assuage Newkirk's feelings. He decided to simply sit there beside his friend and try to get him to calm down enough to go back up to the barracks.

Carter finished his recollection and drew the memory to a close with a question. "He felt like it was his fault that Louis got wounded Rob! Isn't that the silliest thing you've ever heard?"

"Next to what he told me earlier, yes, I agree. But he really believes that he failed us Andrew. And now I know why. Thanks for telling me that. May I ask why you didn't tell me back then?"

"Uh well, sir, uh Rob, Peter made me swear I wouldn't tell anyone, especially you. I didn't think he was that serious to be honest. I thought he was just upset at what had almost happened to Louis."

_Well that answers my question!_ thought Hogan. His plan suddenly made more sense than ever and he decided to run it past Carter to get his opinion.

He felt Carter's excitement mounting as he spoke and when he finished, Carter exclaimed, "If you'd do that for Peter that'd be really great Colonel! He needs that!"

Hogan gave up. As far as his men were concerned, he'd always be 'the Colonel'. He asked Carter one last question, "So you're sure of that?"

Carter had never been so sure of anything in his life. "Yes sir! Absolutely sure! Please, go ahead and ask him. He'll say yes, I know he will!"

"Okay Andrew. That's one vote of confidence. I'll run it by Louis as well to see what he thinks."

"That's a good idea! Louis will be just as excited as I am sir."

"I hope so, for Peter's sake."

"He will, I know he will. Tell him hello for me will you sir?"

"I'll do that Andrew. Listen, I've got one more call to make so I'm going to say good-bye for now. Take care and give my regards to Mary Jane and the kids, okay? And Andrew? Thanks so much, both for myself and for Peter."

"You're welcome sir. Please give my regards to Katrin. Take care of yourself and we'll talk again."

Hogan chuckled. How did Andrew know he was going to call Katrin? Of course he'd know, Carter had been with Newkirk when they had first met her. He picked up the phone again and requested a line to Germany this time. The line came through and Katrin had burst into tears of joy at the good news. She begged Hogan's pardon and thanked him effusively for helping Peter the way he had. After a few minutes she asked to be excused as she could not seem to get her emotions under control. Hogan rang off and sat still, silently mulling things over before he got up to seek out LeBeau.

When he laid out his plan to LeBeau, the Frenchman responded just as Carter said he would. He thought it a marvelous idea and encouraged the General to approach Peter as soon as he possibly could.

"Please let me know how he reacts Rob. I am making my plans to return to Paris and will most likely already be on my way by the time you speak with Pierre."

Hogan nodded. "I will. I still have to wait for a few details to be ironed out before I can formally ask Peter. I know you have responsibilities at home Louis, but I'm sorry you have to leave."

"Oui. I too wish I could stay Rob, but Pierre is well on the way to recovery and my Danielle has her hands full with our business. I miss her dreadfully and she needs me back home."

Hogan clapped LeBeau on the back. "Louis, I want to thank you for all you've done for Peter and Jo. They're really lucky to have you as their friend."

"Oui, I think they are!" laughed the Frenchman. "Seriously Rob, you know I love Pierre like a brother. I would like to think that he loves me as the brother he never had. Both Mavis and Jo have assured me that is the case."

"Let me assure you as well, Louis. It's true. We all feel that way about you. We all feel that way about each other. I want you to know I'll always be here for you and Peter. Just let me know."

LeBeau wrapped his former CO in a heartfelt hug. "Thank you Rob for helping Pierre. I do not know what would have happened had you not found him the help he so desperately needed."

"You're welcome Louis. But you're giving me too much credit. Robbie did most of the work getting Peter admitted to Millbank."

"You both deserve our heartfelt thanks. I will thank Vice Marshal Roberts as well before I leave."

* * *

By the next day, Louis had already said his good-byes to everyone save Peter. Saying good-bye to the General proved more difficult than he thought it would. General Hogan told him he would now be making regular trips 'across the pond' as he put it, and promised to contact him when he did. When he spoke to Jo, he reminded her that he fully expected she, Peter and the boys to visit he and Danielle upon Peter's release from hospital. Jo nodded, her eyes brimming with tears, as she hugged him tightly and whispered her heartfelt gratitude. Mavis hugged him too, thanking him profusely as the tears trailed down her face. By the time he got to Roberts, Louis was beginning to become emotional himself. He knew that the last good-bye would certainly prove to be the most difficult.

He called out softly as he stepped into Peter's room. "Pierre? Are you awake mon ami?"

A heavy sigh preceded Peter's answer. "Yeah Louis, though I wish I wasn't." He knew why LeBeau was here. "You've come to say good-bye 'aven't ya?"

"Oui mon frére." Louis sat down beside Peter's bed. "I must return home. You are now on your way to recovery and my Danielle needs me."

"I know little mate, I know." Peter looked sideways at Louis. "I'll miss you Louis, you know that?"

Louis nodded, "I would hope so mon ami."

Peter extended his hand; when Louis took it he pulled his French comrade into a fierce hug. "I don't 'ave the words, Louis. You've 'elped Jo and Mave so much by bein' so strong for 'em. Thanks little mate for not givin' up. Thanks for bein' 'ere for us. Thanks for bein' my best mate."

Louis' eyes filled with tears at his friend's heartfelt words. "You are most welcome. I know you would do the same for me mon pote."

Peter released his friend and held him at arm's length. "You 'ave a safe trip 'ome Louis and please give our best to Danielle. Please give 'er me gratitude for loanin' you out to us."

"Merci Pierre, I will. As soon as you are completely well, I want you and your family to come visit Danielle and me. You will stay with us and we will eat delicious food and see beautiful sights and have a wonderful time. I will not take 'no' for an answer mon ami. It is settled, oui?"

Peter shook his head affectionately at his French mate, as he knew better than to dispute Louis' words. "Oui, mon ami, oui."

Louis leaned in and kissed Peter on each side of his face. "Until then mon frére. God be with you Pierre."

Peter nodded, unable to speak. He raised his hand in a farewell gesture and sadly watched Louis leave the room.

* * *

Later that day, Hogan pulled Roberts aside. "How is your research project coming along Robbie?"

"I have been in contact with the appropriate people and we feel that your proposal is entirely feasible, especially given the PM's vigorous support."

"Good!" The General clapped his RAF friend on the back. "Thanks old friend!"

Roberts smiled and nodded. "Anything for you or your men, Rob. You know that!"

"I have a feeling that this particular man needs this most right now. Thanks again!"

"I am at your complete disposal and await your further instructions."

Hogan nodded. It was time to reveal his plan to Peter Newkirk.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24 - Rescue**

The General sat down by the bed and put his hand on Newkirk's shoulder. He asked a deliberately obtuse question to gauge his English friend's state of mind. "How've things been going for you Peter?"

"Ya mean other than bein' a bit sick?"

Hogan chuckled at Newkirk's wryly calculated understatement; his state of mind sounded pretty normal if that retort was any indicator. The General tried to choose his words carefully, as he keenly realized that his English friend's pride was on the chopping block here. "Yes, Peter, other than that. You know, we've kept in touch pretty regularly but you've never let me know how you've been getting on financially since the war ended. Andrew and Richard went to college on the GI Bill and they're both doing well."

Newkirk dropped his head and shook it slightly. "General…we ain't got anythin' like that 'ere. I, I wish we did. I guess I was tryin' _not_ to tell you. It 'asn't been easy. What with the austerity program and no jobs anywhere, it's been 'ard, real 'ard. I'd 'ave even done physical labor in a 'eartbeat, but with me lungs bein' the way they were…." He raised his head and looked Hogan in the eyes. "We've gotten by, mind you. If it weren't for Jo and me pension I don't know what we would've done."

"Peter I didn't mean to…"

Newkirk raised his hand to forestall Hogan's apology. "Don't sir, you've no need to apologize. I'm 'appy for Andrew and Richard. I truly am. Couldn't 'appen to two nicer blokes. They deserve every bit of what they're gettin'."

"You deserve the same Peter."

"I don't know about that General." He fell silent for a few moments and then quietly murmured as if to himself, "You know, we didn't even get a campaign medal."

"We, Peter?"

"Bomber Command."

Hogan took a deep breath. He hadn't realized that the men who had obeyed the orders were being punished for the sins of the policy makers. _What were they thinking? Oh well, the war's over and it's back to politics as usual!_

"Peter, I…."

Newkirk cut him off with another shake of his head. "Never mind that sir. It really doesn't matter. I've got me family to worry about now and, and y'know, if it weren't for Jo workin'…. Cor! I feel a right failure for not bein' able to support 'er and the boys the way I'd like to." An almost shy smile graced his face and he spoke softly. "But she never complains! Never! She says that bein' with me and the boys is more than enough for 'er."

Hogan spoke just as softly, "She loves you Peter."

Newkirk nodded, his gaze a bit unfocused. "Yes sir. That she does. Why, I'll never know. But I'll always be grateful."

Hogan huffed in disagreement and shook his head. "Well, I for one think she made a wise choice in a husband."

Newkirk remained silent, so Hogan decided to plunge ahead and make his offer.

"Let me get to the point Peter. I've been given the go-ahead to set up my European headquarters in the greater London area with carte blanche as to personnel. I need someone who is trustworthy, dependable and competent to serve as my Air Attaché. And that someone is you, Peter."

"Me sir?" Newkirk was genuinely puzzled. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he digested Hogan's words. Surely the General remembered that he was a civilian, and had been since he was discharged from the military some seven years before. He repeated himself, "Me sir?"

Hogan chuckled a bit at Newkirk's confusion. "Yes you! I want you to manage my USAFE SAC Operations office. I have been authorized to offer you a commission in the RAF with the rank of Flight Lieutenant."

Newkirk shook his head, completely gobsmacked by General Hogan's proposal. _A commission? As an officer?_ "But, but sir, I'm..."

"You're capable and smart, you can think on your feet, and you've proven to me that you're the best man for the job Peter." Hogan put a hand on Newkirk's shoulder. "Do you think I'd make this offer to someone I didn't trust with my entire being?" He looked at his English friend closely to make sure he got the message.

"No sir," whispered Newkirk. "I, I reckon you wouldn't..."

Hogan continued, "Since we've worked together before there won't be much of a learning curve. The position won't involve much travel, maybe an overseas trip once or twice a year if that. I know you don't want to neglect your family and neither do I." The General paused to put his hand on Newkirk's shoulder and look him directly in the eye. "Peter, there's one more thing. I know London is your home, but..." he trailed off.

"Yes sir?" prompted a suddenly curious Newkirk.

"I've spoken with Doctor McFarland and he feels it would be better for your health if you were to live outside of the areas that are subject to heavy fog. And I agree wholeheartedly with him."

"Cor Gov! That's pretty much the entire city!" He wondered exactly what the General had in mind, especially as Jo's mum and dad lived in Croydon. He knew Jo wouldn't want to be too terribly far from her parents.

Hogan gave Newkirk's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, as if realizing his thoughts. "I know Peter, I know. It would mean moving your family to an airbase well outside the city. I'll try to keep you as close to London as possible but I simply don't want to risk you getting sick again because of the fog."

The General removed his hand from Newkirk's shoulder and looked at him expectantly. "Well, that's my proposal Peter. What do you think?"

Newkirk dropped his head and chewed on his lower lip as he considered the General's words. He sighed and looked seriously at his former CO. "You know sir, I 'ad actually planned on makin' me career in the military. Once I was discharged from 'ospital after the war, I was SOC as far as the RAF was concerned."

"SOC?" Hogan frowned, defeated once more by Newkirk's slang. "Is that anything like SOL?"

Newkirk chuckled in spite of himself. "I suppose you could say that sir. SOC is shorthand for 'signed off charge', that is, no longer usable or wanted."

Hogan found that statement patently offensive. "Well nobody asked me. You know that's not my opinion Peter. I think we've been able to convince the appropriate people that they made a huge mistake. It's not like you'll be on active duty."

Newkirk frowned slightly as he massaged his chin with his right hand. He was surprised to find himself beginning to actually seriously consider the proposal. "D'ya 'ave any idea of which base you'd 'ave yer 'eadquarters?"

"Well right now we're trying to decide between Lakenheath, Upper Heyford and Greenham Common. Wyton was in the mix at one point, but I didn't think you'd go for that. It's a bit too far from London anyway. I believe Greenham Common is probably the closest."

_Wyton!_ Just the mention of his old wartime post brought back a cacophony of memories - a few good, most bad, some indifferent. He lost a lot of his mates during his time at Wyton, especially when they were still flying Blenheims. No. 15 Squadron had just converted to the Wellington when he went on what turned out to be his last bombing mission in December 1940. No, he thought, Wyton would definitely not have been _his_ first choice.

Hogan spoke quietly, pulling Newkirk out of his reverie. "You don't have to give me an answer right now Peter."

Newkirk thought it over, lips pursed. When he finally spoke, his voice was tinged with cautious optimism. "If you can arrange it General, I..I think I'd like that. Of course, I'll 'ave to talk this over with Jo before I give you me final answer."

"Absolutely! I wouldn't have it any other way." The General reached over to firmly grip Newkirk's shoulder. He then shook his head briefly and chuckled. "You know Peter, you really are a very fortunate man. Do you happen to remember the conversation we had after the mission with Berlin Betty?"

Newkirk smiled. _'ere comes the I told ya so!_ He knew precisely what Hogan was referring to. "Yes sir, I do. And, yes you were right, as usual." His gaze focused inward for a moment and he sighed. "Like I said before, I don't rightly understand what a woman like 'er wants with a bloke like me. I do know I love 'er more than anythin' and I 'onestly don't know what I'd do without 'er. She _was_ worth waitin' for."

"The war was quite a life changing experience for you wasn't it?"

_You don't know the 'alf of it Gov!_ thought Peter. What he said was, "Yes sir. Never in me wildest dreams did I ever think life would turn out this way for me." He dropped his head for a moment, then lifted it to look the General directly in the eyes. "I 'ave you to thank for it sir."

Hogan cocked his head to one side. "Me? How so Peter?"

"Well sir, you…you looked upon me as the person you knew I _could_ be, not the person I was. And for that I'll always be grateful." He closed his eyes wearily and pinched the bridge of his nose as a spell of lightheadedness hit him. "Sorry sir. Still not one 'undred percent as they say. Still a bit worn out."

Hogan nodded. He had noticed the Englishman's growing fatigue and was already prepared to leave so Newkirk could get some rest. "I will always be grateful to you Peter. You sacrificed so much for the good of the team. I couldn't have asked for a better man. Like I said, no one deserves this more. It's the very least I can do. You and Jo discuss things and I'll let you know what progress I make. Deal?"

Peter opened his eyes and nodded as well. "Deal. Thanks General." He extended his hand and Hogan took it in a hearty handshake.

"Take care Peter. You concentrate on getting yourself completely well and I'll get back to you soon." The General put his hat on and moved to the door. Suddenly, he turned and snapped to in a formal salute. Peter, surprised and pleased, returned it in the traditional British style.

He managed to get three words out past the lump in his throat. "Thank you sir."

Hogan nodded again and left.

* * *

Peter mulled over the General's offer for the next few days. While a part of him simply couldn't believe it, another part of him yearned to work with his former CO again. He held off on telling Jo until he felt he had his own mind properly wrapped around the idea of rejoining the RAF and as an officer at that. He found himself gradually becoming quite excited at the prospect and hoped that Jo would support his decision to accept the General's proposal. Yet he soon found himself distracted by an even more exciting prospect. Doctor McFarland had upgraded his condition, which meant that Jo's parents were bringing Robbie and Andrew to visit!

* * *

The day for the boys' visit finally arrived. As Peter was still quite weak physically, Jo elevated the bed and helped him to sit up. Despite all that, his eyes sparkled with excitement and anxiety as he took Jo's hand and pulled her close. "Where're me boys darlin'?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, the door opened and Jo's mum and dad stepped in. Despite his gran's constant reminders to the contrary, Robbie broke into a flat out run once he spied his father. "Da!" he shouted.

"Robbie boy!" Peter cried as his eldest son clambered up onto the bed and clutched his arms tightly about his neck.

"Oh Da! Da, you didn't leave!"

"No son, I couldn't leave you." Peter murmured in a broken voice. His eyes filled with tears as he wrapped his arms around Robbie and held him as if to never let him go.

A moment later, Jo took Andrew from her mum and brought him to the bedside. Peter managed to shift Robbie over to his right side whilst he took Andrew in his left arm. He grimaced as Robbie bore down against his sore ribs, but shook his head at Jo's frown. "It's alright darlin'. Leave 'im be. 'e's fine where 'e is." He then whispered to his firstborn, "Robbie, mind yer brother now, 'e's still little."

"Yes Da..." Robbie's muffled voice floated up from where he had his face plastered tightly against Peter's chest.

Andrew burbled happily as he nestled into the crook of Peter's arm, innocently unaware of all that had transpired up until this moment. Peter tenderly kissed his youngest son's forehead and whispered, "'ey Andrew! 'ow's my strappin' lad?" Peter felt the tears again threatening to overwhelm him and he closed his eyes. He opened them back up when he felt Jo's hand on his cheek, and he smiled gratefully at her. "Thank you darlin'...for...everything." He switched his gaze to his in-laws. "Mary, Angus...thank you for takin' care of the boys. I don't know 'ow we'd 'ave managed..."

Jo's mum stepped forward. "Now, now Peter, isn't that what grandparents are for?"

Jo's dad spoke as well. "I think ye'll find yon bairns properly spoiled now Peter my boy!"

Peter rolled his eyes and Jo laughed quietly as he did so. "Thanks Angus! You've done me a 'power of good' as they say on the wireless!" Everyone chuckled at that.

In the excitement of seeing his boys, Peter hadn't noticed Mavis arrival. She stood off to the side away from everyone else, not wanting to interrupt her nephews' reunion with their father. Peter finally saw her and gestured to her with his eyes. "Mave girl! C'mon over 'ere! Give us a kiss?" She joined the group at Peter's bedside and leaned down to kiss her brother on the cheek. He whispered, "I don't know 'ow to thank ya for 'elpin' my Josephine through this, Mave."

Mavis whispered back, "Just get well Peter, d'ya 'ear me? Ya scared me 'alf to death again ya silly git!"

"I know, Mave. I know. Scared meself as well this time." Peter smiled ruefully and then gave out a surprised cry of pain when Andrew playfully kicked his legs against his still bruised chest. "Blimey Andrew, yer a strong one!" he gasped.

Mavis immediately moved to lift Andrew up from Peter's side.

"Mave…!" he protested. "Leave 'im be, 'e didn't know what 'e was doin'. Just bein' a 'appy baby, he was."

"Sorry brother. We can't 'ave yer youngest re-breakin' yer ribs now, can we?"

Peter groaned and shook his head. An alarmed Robbie reached over and pulled his father's face towards his. "What's wrong Da?"

"Nothin' son, just a bit sore is all."

That seemed to reassure Robbie, for he sighed and closed his eyes as he settled back down against his father's shoulder. When Peter reached over and began gently stroking his hair, he sleepily murmured, "I missed you Da."

Peter inhaled shakily and kissed the top of Robbie's head. "I missed you too son. God only knows 'ow much I missed you." Robbie nestled his head onto his father's neck as Peter wrapped both arms around his oldest son and closed his own eyes. His breathing evened out as, despite his determination to the contrary, he fell asleep.

Jo leaned down to kiss both her slumbering son and husband on their foreheads before gesturing to Mavis and her mum and dad to leave the room.

* * *

Peter finally worked up the courage to reveal General Hogan's proposal to Jo, as well as his decision to accept. He should've known not to have worried so over her reaction, as she immediately threw her arms around his neck in unbridled joy.

"Oh darling! I am so very happy for you! How can we ever repay Rob for doing this?"

He pulled her away a bit in order to kiss her and then declared, "By bein' the best Air Attaché 'e's ever or is ever likely to 'ave, that's 'ow!"

Jo couldn't stop smiling. Her husband had needed this opportunity so badly and here it had virtually dropped into their laps! Well, perhaps not so randomly after all, as she reflected on what she had learned about Rob and his POW command, and especially about the man she now held in her arms. She kissed him this time and sat back in her chair.

"May I tell mum and dad the good news?"

He nodded and added, "Sure darlin'. Would ya please tell Mave for me too, if you don't mind?"

"Of course I will darling!" She leaned in for one last kiss and virtually danced her way out of his room.

Peter shook his head and laughed out loud. Who could've known he'd end up back in the RAF, and under General Hogan's command at that? Life sure handed out puzzlers every now and again, didn't it?


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25 - Denouement**

Peter's convalescence proved to be a bit longer than he would've liked, but it was not nearly as protracted as the recovery period from his first bout of pneumonia had been. Doctor McFarland approved his conditional release from Millbank three weeks after he first regained consciousness. Jo had a constant fight with herself not to fuss over him too much and he tried not to become annoyed when she failed, as he knew her motivation was her deep love for him. He found that the best medicine for his long-term recovery lay in being home with her and the boys and carrying on with normal life, such as it was.

General Hogan had eventually contacted him upon finalization of the arrangements for his commission, which happily coincided with the completion of his initial recovery. From that point onward, events swirled quickly and progressively to their eagerly awaited conclusion.

* * *

He glanced about, wondering if he should ask Jo to pinch him as hard as she possibly could, and then decided against it as he knew she'd probably take great delight in doing so. Yet he still had no small amount of difficulty believing they were actually here, now living on base at RAF Greenham Common. A small group had gathered in his new office for a ceremony marking his commission and the commencement of his duties as USAFE SAC Air Attaché. He tried to keep his emotions clamped down as his friends and family proudly watched General Hogan present his rank insignia.

They all burst into spontaneous applause and he briefly ducked his head. Jo's gentle squeeze to his arm reminded him to keep his head high. He looked around and nodded graciously at the warm regards everyone gave him. Air Vice Marshal Roberts smiled broadly from where he stood next to Mavis. Further down the line, he saw Louis LeBeau wiping away tears of joy as Danielle handed him a handkerchief. Jo's mum and dad were there as well, trying to keep Robbie and Andrew as quiet as possible.

Jo had stepped away to let him bask in the group's full attention and he could've sworn he saw Mavis surreptitiously pass something to her behind her back. It was a vague, blurry movement caught at the very edge of his peripheral vision so he wasn't sure if he actually saw it or not. He turned his attention back to the General, who was now reading congratulatory cables sent by his mates in America, as well as one from Katrin and her family.

There was a reception afterwards, just a little affair with assorted hors d'oeuvres and champagne, courtesy of the RAF and one Louis LeBeau. The evening wound down a bit early, as his guests had trains to catch and he himself was growing a bit fatigued.

Mavis and Jo approached to each take one of his arms within theirs. "What's goin' on Jo?" he asked as they escorted him back to his office.

"You'll see, brother," answered Mavis.

Once there, he spotted the package on his desk. It was rather plain, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a black cord. He read the attached card, "To Flight Lieutenant Peter Newkirk, with our deepest love, Jo and Mave."

He ripped it open to find a mahogany shadow box frame. He gasped when he saw what it contained, and looked up to see Jo and Mavis trying to hold back tears through their smiles. He brought it closer to more carefully examine its contents. It was lined within by red velvet, into which nestled two items. The first item to catch his eye was a photograph of a handsome young man dressed in battle gear which looked to be of the type worn during the Great War. The second item was unmistakable, as he knew exactly what it was. He felt his chest constrict with emotion as he recognized his father's Victoria Cross.

His hands began shaking and he carefully lowered the box back onto his new desk so as not to drop it. "My God Mave! Where did you find this snap of 'im? I don't ever remember seein' it."

"It was in mum's 'ope chest. It 'ad been in the back of the cupboard for so long I forgot I 'ad it. Jo and I found it when we spent an entire day lookin' through mum's things."

_Hope chest indeed!_ thought Peter bitterly. The only tangible thing his Mum and Da's marriage had started out with was hope. Sadly, even that small blessing was blasted to nonexistence by the first war when his Da returned from the Somme to become an abusive, alcoholic layabout. That was the only father he and Mavis had ever known.

Mavis noticed her brother's darkening expression and put a gentle hand on his arm. "Peter, don't go there right now. This is a 'appy occasion, don't ruin it for yerself."

Peter took a deep breath, looked at Mavis and swept her into his arms to hug her tightly. "Yer right Mave. Right as rain as usual." He had to put the brakes on his thoughts and remember how he had come to terms with his father's failings in the first place. The snap and VC stood for the man he had been before the war destroyed him. _Remember that man Peter, even though you didn't know 'im_, he told himself. _Mum wouldn't 'ave married 'im if she didn't see somethin' good in 'im!_

He released Mavis but kept one arm around her waist and held her close to his side. He reached his other arm out and wrapped it around Jo to pull her to his other side. He sighed contentedly as he reveled in the loving attention of the two most important women in his life.

* * *

Much later that night, Jo silently extricated herself from her husband's arms and rose to go check on the boys. She was still getting used to the spaciousness of their detached quarters and thought she might not be able to hear the boys should they need her. She returned a few minutes later to pause in the bedroom doorway to gaze affectionately at Peter; he had turned over onto his side in his sleep. She eased back into the bed and lay facing him. She reached over and very gently caressed his cheek, hoping he hadn't overexerted himself. Not that she had any regrets on that score, it was just that he sometimes had a slight wheeze to his breathing, especially when he became winded.

He shifted a bit at her touch and a small smile graced his face. "Mmmmmmm...'ello darlin'. Ready for another go?" He took her hand and lightly brushed her fingertips with his lips before he opened his eyes to see her reaction to his proposal.

Jo shook her head and nestled back into his strong arms with a sigh. "Oh yes, I definitely am. You, unfortunately though, need to rest. Remember what the doctors said?"

"Oh sod the bleedin' doctors..." He leaned in to kiss her passionately. Since she made no move to further encourage him, he rolled onto his back and put on his best little boy pout. "Awwww darlin' say it ain't...so..." his eyes rolled closed even as he spoke.

Jo snuggled closer to him and chuckled to herself, "Uh huh, that's what I thought." She brushed her fingertips softly against his temple as she closed her eyes. "Don't worry darling. We have the rest of our lives before us."

* * *

_A/N - And so we have finally come to the end (or is it a beginning?). I hope you have enjoyed reading as much as I've enjoyed writing. I must cite a few references for any of you who may be interested. I already cited the book "Killer Smog, The World's Worst Air Pollution Disaster" by William Wise for my source on the Big Smoke. Another useful source of inspiration was "Austerity Britain 1945-1951" by David Kynaston. It's a weighty, scholarly tome but invaluable in its evocation of post-war Britain. I also found "Armageddon - The Battle for Germany, 1944-1945" by Max Hastings useful for its depiction of the chaos that was Germany in the waning days of the ETO. And let's not forget "FUBAR - Soldier Slang of World War II" by Gordon Rottman, always a useful source._

_As we say in Texas, "Y'all come back now, y'hear?"_


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